


Divine Moves

by im2old4thisotp



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dance, Alternate Universe - No supernatural, Ballroom Dancing, Businessman Stiles Stilinski, Everyone shows up here really, M/M, Mutual Pining, Professional Dancer Derek Hale, Sterek Reverse Bang 2018, Sterek Reversebang 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 20:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15372450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im2old4thisotp/pseuds/im2old4thisotp
Summary: "Stiles, as always, rose to the challenge. He’s been one of the most consistent partners I have ever had, and I am so lucky to have been partnered with him. Not a lot of people would be able to stand up to the scrutiny and the judgement that he has, but he does it all with a smile and a laugh. He inspires me.”There were other interviews now, from other contestants about Stiles and Derek and their online support phenomenon, but Stiles didn’t hear any of it. His attention was fully on Derek now, who was looking across the stage at him with what Stiles could only describe as a sense of pride. A small smile broke over Derek’s face, and he ducked his head in the adorable, slightly embarrassed way that Stiles just loved.Derek, who started out this competition thinking he had a female partner, who instead was saddled with Stiles and, along with him, even more controversy and judgement than he should have had to handle. And yet he stood there, ready for their last performance, one that could literally make or break his career. If he could be that brave for Stiles, well then...Stiles would be brave, too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heartfelt thanks to my incredible artist, Ritarmandi, for the work they produced that was so inspiring. You can find it embedded into chapter 2 (hopefully, if I did my posts correctly). Please go to her blog and leave her some comment/reblog love, too! [Rita's blog](https://ritarmandi.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks also to my beta Sabrina, who as always, listened to me whine and beg and cry, and then helped me hack this story apart so that it could make sense. The fact that she does all this without shipping Sterek is just an extra feather in her cap.
> 
> And finally, thanks to the mods of the Sterek Reverse Bang, who have been an incredible support and encouragement.
> 
> There are embedded images on each chapter, so if they don't show up...let me know.
> 
> Without further ado...I hope you like it. If you do, remember that kudos are virtual high fives, comments literally breathe life into my dying bones, and people who comment every chapter will be awarded with extra special gems in their heavenly crowns. *muah*

 

 **Isaac Lahey @officialisaaclahey** Anyone wanna dance?

 **Danny Mahealani is my god @dannydancefan** Please please PLEASE it is time for @dannymdance to be @divinemovesdance champion! Give him a good partner PLZ!!

 **Divine Moves Fansite @dmdanceblog** Did you see the tweet from @officialisaaclahey tonight? Rumors are also flying about Olympic Champion @archeryargent (How good would she be with @dannymdance?!) and possibly a favorite reality TV mom?? Looking at you, @realhousemelissa.

 **Divine Moves Fansite @dmdanceblog** OH WOW!! FIRST SAME-SEX COUPLE IN DIVINE MOVES HISTORY! Who could have predicted this?? Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski. What’s their team name, Divine Fans: #Derinski? #Stales? #Haleinski? #Sterek?

 **Samantha Burns @bisexualsam** Representation Matters!! Thank you, @divinemovesdance I haven’t watched the show before, but I will this season!

 **Pamela Healy @pamela1973** @divinemovesdance Really? A same-sex couple? I don’t want that on my TV. My kids and I used to watch the show together, now we won’t be able to.

 **Will Always Will @waw2392** So, anyone else ticked off that they waste the first same-sex pairing on someone like Derek Hale?? Guy is a disaster. It’ll be our luck he’ll get kicked off the first week….AGAIN.

 

**************

 

“I can’t fucking _do this_ , Derek!”

Stiles pushed away from Derek’s grasp after stumbling out of a hold they were practicing. Again. He was breathing hard, the sweat dripping off his temples into droplets on the floor.

It wasn’t the first time they had run through the intense program that Derek had developed, but after all the weeks of partnership, of dancing together and learning routines, at this point in the week, Stiles usually had at least the basics down. The last couple of days before the live show were for fine-tuning, but this week for some reason, Stiles was still having trouble getting even the basic positions down in this routine. His skin was sheened with sweat, his gray t-shirt (today emblazoned with ‘Fluent in movie quotes and sarcasm’) darkened in patches, proof that they’d run this routine through multiple times, to no avail.

Derek, for his part, was frustrated, too. This dance was the most important—they had made it to the finale performance, and the finale performances were worth twice the points. With only four couples left in the competition now, their dances would get more attention. They had to win over the fans of the dancers that had already been eliminated, and putting in a rough performance wouldn’t do anything to help their chances. Derek couldn’t believe it, but they had the chance to actually win Divine Moves. Take home the mirrored trophy and everything. Derek had never even come close before, and now, it was _right there_ , within their grasp. He could practically taste it.

Apparently, Gerard Argent, the showrunner, recognized that they were close to winning, too. And given his personal feelings about Derek, it wasn’t a surprise that the dance that was chosen for them this week was specifically meant to bring about the maximum amount of drama possible. And it was about to break Stiles.

“The judges chose this dance _on purpose_. The fucking Argentine Tango? They want us—they want _me_ —to be _sexy_? Are you kidding me?”

Derek roughed his hand down his face, the sweat dripping from his palm. “It’s the finale, Stiles. The whole purpose of this choice is to challenge us.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t a challenge. This is an impossibility. I’m _not_ sexy. There’s no way I can do these moves you have choreographed. My stupid body doesn’t move like this, dude!” He looked down in disgust at the microphone attached to his shirt.

“You’ve been incredibly good at all of it so far, Stiles. This is just one more dance…”

But Stiles wouldn’t hear it. He was pacing now, his hands clenching and unclenching in front of him as he got more and more agitated. “Yeah, well it isn’t surprising that it’s all breaking down now. I can’t get the steps, I can’t get the stupid hold right, my timing’s all off. I just... _I can’t fucking do it!”_

At that, Stiles picked up his water bottle and threw it forcefully across the room into the wall— thankfully, not the mirrored one. It slammed off the concrete blocks, shockingly not bursting apart, coming to a halt next to the foot of one of the camera men, who cocked an eyebrow at the scene in front of him.

Derek eyed the cameras in the two corners of the room, a wary smile on his face. Gerard’s going to love this moment. _Paint his favorite picture of the gay drama queen, melting down at the last minute. He loves his stereotypes, to hell with what Stiles is really like._

Derek hated it. America only saw one, maybe two minutes of the _hours_ they spent perfecting each routine. One minute of the getting to know each other, of the sweat and the injuries and the tears. The editors took the best moments of drama, plastered it together, and presented it as some kind of picture of what Derek and Stiles were really like.

But it wasn’t.

One minute didn’t show anything.

Stiles had been working his ass off for weeks, _months_ now. He had never been a drama queen—not even when he found out he was one half of Gerard’s Big Same-Sex Dance Experiment that was broadcasted on national primetime television every week. Any less-confident man would have walked out immediately, being played in that way. Stiles hadn’t been a drama queen when he found out that not only was he partnered with a male, he was paired with Derek, the “Bad Boy of the Ballroom” whose reputation was less than stellar on the dance floor (and even worse off of it). Stiles didn’t even pitch a fit when they threw him into sequined lycra and filled in his eyebrows on a weekly basis (though he did refuse to be put in the deep-v-necks that Derek was fond of. ”Let’s normalize same-sex dancing and wearing flannel in performances!” Stiles had said.).

Derek had watched all the taped packages the editors had come up with for them before every episode. He knew how they were being portrayed to the country. As if it wasn’t enough being the first same-sex couple, they were also being scrutinized every week for every little detail of every performance: the music, the costuming, the choreography. All of it told a story.

And what a story it had been. Stiles Stilinski, the openly bisexual head of _Speak Out_ , the first LGBTQ production company in Hollywood; paired with Derek Hale, the possibly-gay Latin Dancesport champion of the ballroom and 9-time _Divine Moves_ professional. Stiles, the outgoing, bitingly sarcastic, eager to laugh and gesticulating celebrity; with Derek, the scowling, sexy, eye-rolling, serious professional.

The LGBTQ community was _loving_ the whole thing. The first episode of the season had debuted during Pride Month, and since then they had ridden “The Gay Wave,” as it was referred to (offensively, to be honest) in the media. They had equal amounts of love (from the gay and ally community) and hate (from seemingly _everywhere else),_ and through it all, Stiles and Derek had to go out every week and just dance their asses off. The only way they could shut people up about “the same-sex thing” and focus on their actual dancing was to _be good._

Even though Stiles had seemed to be a prime candidate for an early exit—he wasn’t an A-list celebrity, just a well-respected producer and businessman (his robotic pizza company was one of _Fortune’s_ fastest-rising companies in America), and he seemed to have about eight limbs on a regular basis—he had actually done really, surprisingly well. They had put enough solid, consistent routines together in the first few weeks to make it through (it also helped that some of the contestants they had chosen this season had an impressive lack of coordination—Bobby Finstock, the Super Bowl-winning coach would go down as one of the worst celebrities in _Divine Moves_ history, not just for his lack of rhythm, but because he yelled at the judges’ table during a live taping, saying they “were a bunch of pussy-livered sons of bitches” when Kira Yukimura, one of the judges, told him his footwork was off).

It wasn’t to say that Stiles and Derek didn’t have any issues.

Derek wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. “The Bad Boy of the Ballroom,” his unofficial nickname, was not without reason. His penchant for black leather and tight jeans withstanding, he also had Resting Bitch Face and a real frustration when it came to celebrities who were sandbagging him. Stiles seemed to think that he was in a perpetual bad mood, and had taken it as a reason to apparently try to weasel a smile out of him at any opportunity. Derek hated to admit it, but it had been relatively successful so far—Stiles was _funny_ , though Derek would never tell him that, since Stiles would become insufferable.

What no one outside of his sister Cora knew was that his last girlfriend, Kate Bishop, née Kate _Argent_ (Derek learned later that she used the stage name to hide her identity as Gerard’s daughter) had managed to completely bankrupt him in the time they had been together. He wasn’t even really sure how it happened, which was even more frustrating. No matter how he looked at it, it didn’t make sense. He had saved up good money from his time as a professional dancer—his wins in the Dancesport circuit, his own studio—but after being with her, all the money—and more heartbreakingly, his studio—were gone. He couldn’t even take the time to investigate it properly because she had sent bounty hunters after him and he had to scramble to find enough work to keep them at bay. What she had done to him _had_ to be something illegal, he just didn’t have the time or the resources to figure it out.

Derek had hoped that Gerard was unaware of the whole thing, but when he had threatened to quit last season, the pointed “you need this show...you know it, and _I_ know it” was enough to let Derek know that not only did Gerard know, he was also handcuffed to the show until he could figure out how to get out of it.

When Derek had been paired with Stiles, he was frustrated. Not just because of the same-sex thing, but because it was yet another pathetic partner that Gerard saddled him with, further ruining his dance reputation and ensuring that he’d never get out from under his debt, never get his studio back, never get past the memory of Kate. To make matters worse, Kate had been named the third judge on the show, ensuring that Derek and his partner would never get a fair shake. The blogs went crazy when the pairings were announced, and it seemed like no one had given him and Stiles a snowflake’s chance in hell of winning.

They were the first same-sex pairing in _Divine Moves_ history. Representation on television had skyrocketed on cable networks for the last ten years, but on network television? And in something as gender-rigid as ballroom dancing? It felt like half of America had written them off before they even did their first dance, angry that the producers had even dared to put a same-sex couple on network TV in the first place. From the way some of them talked, you’d think Stiles and Derek were planning on having sex out on the dance floor in front of America every week. It didn’t matter that Stiles was in a relationship with a woman right now. The anti-LGBTQ army of fanatics latched on to the idea of the pairing and wouldn’t let it go. What was more frustrating was that Stiles and Derek got flack from within the LGBTQ community itself, with several particularly loud people on social media citing Stiles’ relationship with actress Caitlin Heather as proof that he was “invalid,” or “hiding his true gay identity,” or even worse—saying that “he was just using the attention to further his business ventures” (Derek had never seen Stiles get as angry as he did when an interviewer mentioned that one).

But, as vocal as the antis were at the beginning (including a “boycott” of the show from One Million Moms), over the course of the season they had been drowned out by the very vocal portion of the viewing public who was wildly in favor of the pairing, especially when they turned out to be decent together. What had started as just a few noisy supporters on Twitter was now a massive following, with #TeamSterek trending in the top ten in the US almost every episode. After last week’s playful Jive, they had stayed the #1 trending topic in the US for hours after the episode aired. Gerard was positively giddy, because all the controversy and chatter directly translated to a massive ratings upswing.

As in every season, support was split between the other contestants: The Howlers’ frontman Isaac Lahey; MMA fighter Theo Raeken; fashion designer Lydia Martin; Real Housewife of Beacon Hills Melissa McCall; her son Scott McCall, the celebrity dog trainer; boxing champion Liam Dunbar; Olympic biathlon champion Allison Argent; fighter pilot Mason Hewitt, soap opera star Erica Reyes, and controversial NRA President Braeden Tandy. The main competition had been from Allison, Scott, and Isaac, the other three celebrities in the finale, which Derek partly believed was because of their dancing ability, and partly because the editors had done a masterful job at creating a believable love triangle between the three of them.

Not that Gerard cared. If it worked and made him money, he stuck with it. It didn’t matter if social media called his programming “old” or “tired” or “baby boomer paradise—” if it brought in viewerships and advertising revenue, he kept it going. _Divine Moves_ , once considered a surprising newcomer to the network, was in its ninth season, and the chatter prior to a new season had died down significantly. It was still consistently the highest-viewed program of the night, but the heyday of seasons two and three were gone, and Gerard had been chomping at the bit to make it a buzzable hit again. So when the media storms of #TeamSterek, Coach Finstock’s outburst in week one, and the Scott/Isaac/Allison triangle developed, Gerard sat back in his comfortable executive chair and just watched the dollars roll in with a smug look on his face.

Derek watched Stiles as he paced back and forth in front of the mirror, rubbing at his neck and muttering to himself. Derek found himself frustrated again, but for the first time it wasn’t directed at his celebrity partner. He was frustrated at himself now, at his inability to explain to Stiles how much he believed in him, in his ability to do the dance, and do it well.

Derek would be the first to admit he never thought that the two of them would work. He had never partnered with a guy before. There were nuances there that needed to be tread upon lightly. He didn’t want to make Stiles effeminate, he wanted him to look just as strong, just as much of a leader in the dance as he was. Not only that, but there was an entire world of same-sex dancing that they were suddenly representing, and the last thing Derek wanted to do was make it look like it wasn’t a viable option in partnering. It took some studying of some incredible same sex partners on YouTube to figure out the magic of double leading, and even longer to work through the concept of it with Stiles. But Stiles had made it work. He had picked up every lead, been strong and confident and talented, and Derek was...well. Derek was in his ninth season of _Divine Moves._ He had had all manner of partners—outrageous divas, people with no manageable dance skill whatsoever, people with some skill but the personality of a wet mop—but Stiles? Stiles was...different.

Oh, Stiles was irritating. And impulsive. And sometimes a real goddamned fucking menace. But he was also whip-smart, and playful, and pretty stinking beautiful, too. And on top of all of it, he had actual dancing skills. It has surprised Derek at first, because Stiles seemed to be all flailing limbs, but he had amazing rhythm, and his ability to memorize routines was incredible. Plus, once he warmed up, he was kind of freakishly flexible. They hadn’t really used that to their advantage in the routines so far, but this one was going to outshine them all.

Their first few dances on the show were mostly side-by-side: a cha-cha, a swing dance, a mambo, even the jive was more of an open-hold dance. Derek wondered if they were chosen by Gerard specifically so that America could be eased into watching a same-sex couple dancing together. Derek wouldn’t put it past the old man. He thought of every detail and how it would come across to the public. But the Argentine Tango? That was something completely different. It was the definition of a closed-hold dance, as well as an emotionally charged one.

Derek had never—in his 9 years of _Divine Moves_ and the years of Dancesport competition before that— _never_ been able to do the kind of routine he was planning for this Argentine Tango. He wasn’t a sexist person in the least, but the fact was he hadn’t had a female partner yet that could have pulled off the holds, the spins, and the lifts that they were going to attempt in this routine. It was really a dance with two leads—Stiles would be doing just as much of the work as he was, and Derek was practically buzzing with excitement about it—if he could get Stiles to believe in himself.

Derek had learned a lot about working with Stiles over the last couple of months. First, don’t let him have coffee after 4pm. Second, if you let the conversation veer off too far, the rabbit trails will lead into scary territory featuring circumcision and baby sacrifices. And finally, if you push Stiles to the breaking point, he’ll start to do really really well.

Which was why, in this moment when Stiles was completely frustrated and annoyed, discarded water bottle on the floor, Derek knew he could keep going.

“Stiles,” Derek said gently, getting him to turn around. His posture screamed frustration, but his eyes—Derek could see the fear in those eyes, the doubt that had plagued Stiles from the minute he entered the competition. Derek wanted to wrap Stiles up in his arms, but he wouldn’t...he couldn’t let himself get that close, or more rumors would follow them. They’d been nothing but professional in front of the cameras so far. In fact, compared to the what was going on in the other rehearsal rooms (Lydia and her professional dancer Aiden Steiner were _particularly_ bad), Derek and Stiles had nearly been hands-off. It didn’t seem to matter too much—Twitter exploded over the merest eye-contact between the two of them at this point. He knew that the soft discussion the cameras were capturing right now were sure to get the virtual tongues wagging even more.

“What is the problem?” Derek asked as softly as possible, not wanting Stiles to think he was being accusatory in any way. “You’ve never been this frustrated before. What’s going on?”

Stiles moved a little closer to Derek, coming to stand directly in front of him. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits. He looked absolutely miserable, and Derek’s heart broke, watching Stiles shuffle in place, looking back and forth between the cameras and Derek’s face. Derek sighed. Whatever Stiles wanted to say, he wasn’t going to say in front of the cameras. It wasn’t the first time this had happened in the history of their partnership, but it was definitely the first time that Derek refused to let the issue go. There was no way they’d be able to work on their dance when there were things that Stiles needed to get out.

He put his hand on Stiles’ upper arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. Then he reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his phone, tapping the screen a few times. He looked up at Stiles, and grinned a little at the confusion drawn across his features.

“Uhh...Der? What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.”

“Hey now, you expressly told me that I’m not allowed to have my phone in here. And you’re telling me you’ve had your phone on you the whole time?”

“I’m not addicted to it like you are,” Derek smirked, turning his attention back to his phone.

Stiles sputtered. “I—I’m not _addicted_ , Derek Hale. I’m a working professional. A _very busy_ working professional, I might add!”

There was silence for a moment or two, as Derek continued to give the phone his attention. Derek could tell the moment that Stiles couldn’t handle not knowing what was going on (he threw up his hands and huffed), and it made him laugh internally. He was figuring out all of Stiles’ tells.

“Alright, fine. What are you doing?”

Derek smirked, keeping his eyes on his phone. “Well, I hear there’s this amazing app where you place a pizza order, and they cook it in the truck on the way to your location so it’s piping hot when it arrives.”

The humor was laced through Stiles’ tone. “Y’know, I think I’ve heard of that one.”

Derek smirked. “I heard the creator is surprisingly good at the Jive. So, I am using said app—” He looked up from the phone to look at the cameraman across the room. “—Stevie, you like mushrooms, right?—” He caught a surprised nod from across the room then turned his attention back to the phone. “—to get our lovely camera crew out of here.” He pressed one final red button on the screen, then put his phone back in his pocket, looking into the camera as he did it. “There. Okay, pizza will be here in 15, guys. Take off your mic, Stiles. And then all of you?” Derek pointed at each crew member in the room. “We’re going to need you out of here for...about 45 minutes after that, alright?”

The guy named Stevie slid the camera away from his eye. “But...Gerard will never—”

“—Ah, but who says Gerard is ever going to _know?”_ Derek interrupted him, and took a couple of steps toward the camera, giving it—and the people behind it—his best intimidating look. It must have worked, because both cameras lowered quickly, the people holding them walking out of the studio space without a word, grabbing both Derek and Stiles’ mics as they passed. The guy named Stevie stopped at the door, though, and turned back to give Derek a look.

“You do know what we got so far, right?”

Derek sighed. Yes. He knew what the editors would have to work with. It wasn’t the prettiest: Stiles failing and yelling and throwing the water bottle, Derek watching helplessly. But making sure Stiles was okay right now was way more important than whether or not America thought Stiles was emotional and Derek was a douchebag. He nodded at the cameraman, who shrugged and left, closing the studio door behind him.

He took another deep breath before turning around to Stiles, whose mouth was open in surprise.

“What?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head briefly. “Nothing! I just...I’ve never seen your death glare in person, that’s all.”

“Well, consider yourself lucky. My last celebrity partner thought it was the only expression I had.”

Stiles grinned at that, but the expression left his face quickly as he remembered what they had been doing. He uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

“So,” Derek said gently, gesturing to Stiles to sit with him against the wall, “you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Stiles settled onto the floor, his back against the mirror. He grabbed for another bottle of water and took a few chugs before answering. “I’m just...I’m wondering if all of this is worth it anymore, Der.”

Derek rested his back against the mirror, his shoulder barely brushing Stiles’ next to him. His knees were pulled up to his chest, and he rested his forearms against them. “What do you mean?”

There was a long, slow inhale and exhale, and Derek waited patiently. Stiles usually thought through things a mile a minute. If it was taking him this long to gather his thoughts, it must be something big. No wonder he was having trouble dancing.

“I keep my ear to the ground when it comes to what people are saying about me. Most of it doesn’t bother me. After being in business almost ten years now, it’s really hard for anyone to say something I haven’t heard before, or to say something that really matters. People make fun of my clothes all the time, and my hair, and my stupid mannerisms. None of that—I just don’t care about any of it. I do my best to run my businesses with integrity, and give back, and keep my nose clean. All the stuff you have to do when everything you do is under scrutiny.”

Derek nodded. It made sense. Stiles was always pretty unfazed with what people thought of him; it was something about him that Derek admired. Stiles took another deep breath and continued, “But every week that we get further into this show I can’t keep ignoring what I’m hearing. The things about me: the questions about my bisexuality, the reports about Caitlin and I fighting, the threats against my company and what we stand for? That’s nothing new. But now? The threats and the comments...they’re about you. Rumors about _your_ sexuality, and your relationship with Kate, and about...some financial stuff?”

Derek’s mind was swimming. People were talking about his money? How would they even know about any of that? Did Kate go public? He ran through their mutual acquaintances in his mind, making a mental list of who she would’ve told, who might sell him out to the paps, when he realized Stiles was looking over at him.

“Your face tells me everything I need to know, man. And look, I don’t need to know your business at all. I know Kate’s a piece of shit, and whatever happened could not possibly have been your fault. And I don’t care if you’re straight or gay or bi or whatever, and it isn’t my business either way. But I just...I can’t help but feel that if we win this competition… I just feel like it will ruin your life. That the shitstorm we’ve been weathering this whole season will come crashing down on your career. Is that stupidly overdramatic of me?”

Derek dropped his head between his knees. His voice bounced off the floor, muffled into his long legs. “Gerard’s been trying to destroy my career for years. I think it’s why he put us together this season. Probably thought that the backlash against our pairing would put the nail in my proverbial coffin.”

“Why is he trying to bury you?” Stiles asked gently. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, really. Just...if you want to talk to someone…”

Derek sighed. He never thought he’d have to say this out loud to anyone. He had hoped to pay off the debts quietly and start his own business in his own quiet corner of the dance community. But of course Kate would shit all over that reality, too. The thought of saying anything filled him with embarrassment and made his gut clench with nerves. But Stiles was looking at him with such care. He wouldn’t hold this against him, would he? No, he trusted Stiles.

“Kate and I dated for almost a year. It was...really great at the beginning. She had some connections in the dance world, got me some key auditions… I was grateful to her for the help, and I don’t know, she thought I owed her, I guess? Anyway, she was mad that I was standing on my own two feet, or something. But she started being more controlling. Little things at first, like telling me not to go out at night, and firing my trainer and hiring one of hers that was ‘better.’ Then she stopped letting me see any of my female dance colleagues unless she was around. Me and my partner at the time used to rehearse at my studio, but all of a sudden every studio space was booked whenever we tried to practice. It’s one of the reasons she moved on to another partner. Kate had slowly taken over my business, at first doing things that really helped its organization and standing, telling me about all the systems she had set up at her own studios, but it wasn’t until it was too late that I realized she had effectively turned it into her studio with my name on the door.” Derek noticed Stiles’ raised eyebrows, and felt the need to explain. “It seems crazy that I didn’t see the signs and dump her right away, I know. But—I mean, you’ve seen her every week. She has this way about her. It was easy to fall under her spell. And then I was too deep in it that I didn’t feel like I could leave. My professional career started to slip, Cora was on the DanceSport circuit so I only heard from her occasionally, and I never saw Boyd.”

“But you guys are inseparable,” Stiles said

“Yeah, he’s really stepped up for me the last couple of years.”

Stiles looked down at his hands, gripping them together nervously. “So, what about the money?”

Derek’s focus turned to his lap. “No one knows about this, okay? I mean, Kate and Gerard are in on it, but...in my life…”

Stiles put a hand on Derek’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “Hey, hey. You don’t have to tell me anything, okay? I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

Derek looked over and saw Stiles’ big brown eyes looking at him in earnest. The weeks of partnering had fostered an incredible physical trust with his partner, but it wasn’t just that. There was a stronger bond there—something more real. It was a little scary for Derek to process in depth, but...it was impossible to imagine Stiles betraying him.

“I—I was in my fifth season of _Divine Moves,_ and she couldn’t control who I saw. Boyd helped me realize that nothing about our relationship was healthy. I finally got up the nerve to break it off with her, and I tried to take everything back, but my name wasn’t on the deed anymore, somehow. Then a couple of months later I started getting bills: studio improvements, back pay for employees I never hired, fines for non-appearances that I didn’t know I was scheduled for...and the worst, payments for a second mortgage on my studio and credit cards in my name. I tried to contest things, pay things out of my own pocket, but my savings were gone, too.”

“But...that’s gotta be _illegal,_ Derek!”

Derek ran his hands through his hair, his frustration buzzing through his limbs. “I _know_...but the bounty hunters came after me so fast, and then Gerard threatened my removal from _Divine Moves,_ and threatened to out that I’m bisexual...I mean, I’m fine with people knowing, but I want it to be on my terms and not a coercion. This show’s all I have left right now, Stiles. She ruined my reputation with DanceSport, with potential partners...I just…I don’t have anything left.”

Stiles sat up, away from the mirror, and turned to sit cross-legged facing Derek. His hand reached out again, resting it gently on Derek’s forearm.

“I believe you, okay? What happened to you is not your fault.”

“But I let her into my life, I let her in my house and..my business and...my bed...I just—”

“—Derek, _no.”_ Stiles leaned in close, putting his other hand on Derek’s forearm. “She preyed on you. She manipulated you. That isn’t your fault. You had no reason to guess she would abuse your trust that way. It’s just...why haven’t you confronted her?”

“I’ve tried. It isn’t easy to confront her at the studio with so many cameras around, and she moved and changed her number. Gerard has also been stonewalling me. Plus, I wouldn’t put it past her to slap me with a restraining order or sue me for harassment or something.”

“Sounds just like her to do something so incredibly heinous to literally the last person on earth who deserves it.”

Derek stared into his partner’s eyes. Stiles looked so sure—so confident that Derek was innocent in the whole situation. He _wanted_ to believe it. He wanted to be free of the self-flagellation that came from knowing you ushered in the thief that stole your whole life. If Stiles believed he wasn’t at fault...maybe he wasn’t? He felt a lump rise in his throat, his hand reaching over to cover Stiles’ long fingers, still wrapped around his arm. It was a sign of affection he had never dared to do when the cameras were around. “W—why do you believe me?”

Stiles’ eyes were locked onto where Derek’s hand covered his own. He wiggled his thumb out from under Derek’s palm, gently placing it atop the back of Derek’s hand. The simple gesture made Derek’s heart pound a little more erratically. “Because, Der, I _know_ you. I’ve spent months with you, watching you work; I’ve seen how you are with the other pros, how you are with _me._ You’re kind and patient and trusting, an amazing teacher and unbelievably talented. You go out there every week, even with what Kate did to you, and you face her and her criticism and you’re never anything less than a professional about it. If it had been me, I would’ve jumped across the judges’ table and ripped out her throat with my teeth a long time ago.”

Derek chuckled. “Guess I’m glad it wasn’t you, then. It’d be hard to win this thing if you were rotting in a jail cell for attempted larynx removal.”

Stiles shrugged. “Eh. It’d be worth it.”

The pair of them sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, neither of them moving. Stiles’ hand still enveloped Derek’s, his long thumb pressing lightly into the skin beneath his fingertips. Derek wondered if the same, swooping horde of butterflies that was in his stomach was matched by the man holding his hands. He didn’t want to move too quickly, speak and break the quiet of the moment. It was the first bit of calm that they had shared in one of these studio sessions, and Derek was thankful that the cameras hadn’t witnessed it. It definitely felt like something that was meant for just the two of them.

Derek looked up to see Stiles’ gaze fixed on their joined hands. He must have noticed Derek’s eyes on him, because he looked up, giving him small smile and squeezing Derek’s hand, before releasing his gentle grip. Derek tried not to let his disappointment in the action show.

Stiles turned back around and rested the back of his head against the mirrored glass. “I don’t know if I can pull off this dance, Derek.”

Derek started to raise his voice to protest, but Stiles lifted up his finger to silence him. “Look, I know you’ll argue with me. But...it’s like...God, I never thought we might actually _win_ this thing. And the pressure is even greater now, and it feels like there’s just more and more hate on us. And...this routine? I can _see it_ in my head, y’know? And it’s just...it’s _so good.”_

Derek flushed, raising his head slightly to peer over his elbow at Stiles. “Yeah?”

He nodded rapidly. “Like, _whoa._ And you should deliver this routine with someone that will get you the attention you deserve. Not with me, someone who is just going to get you more hate and negative attention and keep you under Kate’s thumb forever. You deser—”

“—Stiles, stop. I can’t do this routine with anyone else. Not just because of the lifts and the holds and the technical part of it—that’s the easy part.”

Stiles couldn’t help the snort that accompanied his look of incredulity. “You think lifting me at least three different times and the footwork and holds in this routine are _easy?”_

Derek grinned at that. “The technical part is easy because we’ve been doing it for weeks, and I know you can handle it. Your holds are strong, you’ve got amazing footwork for someone who’s never done this before; I have no doubt that you will simply dominate this routine technically. But the Argentine Tango also requires something _more._ And it’s something that I have never been able to pull off with any of my previous partners. It’s...it’s...”

“—My biting sarcastic wit, eh? My adorably ruffled good looks?”

Derek chuckled. Typical Stiles. Diffusing the tension with a well-timed quip. It was something that Derek really loved—er, liked—about Stiles. His ability to make Derek laugh. Derek hadn’t felt like laughing much over the last few years. But Stiles had him looser, more comfortable, more _himself_ than he had been in a long time. It was too bad that Caitlin was in the picture, or Derek may have… But no, Stiles was his partner. His amazing, incredible partner. Derek looked into the brown eyes that seemed to hold onto his heart, and swallowed thickly over his nerves.

“It’s the emotional part of this routine where I really think you’ll shine. The parts where we have to show our connection with each other to the audience. The story of this Argentine Tango is about a forbidden passion between two people. We have to connect with each other through our hold and our footwork, but also through our hands and our eyes, the tilt of our heads and the slow-quick-slow-quick steps. The audience is going to read every emotion in this dance. And you’re the first partner I’ve had that can handle that kind of gravity in the story.” Derek didn’t add that Stiles was the first partner that he had that kind of emotional bond with. Derek felt the story of the dance was probably a bit on the nose for his feelings for Stiles, but It wasn’t his place to say anything. He was with someone. But Derek’s heart felt it, and he’d channel it into the dance, his own feelings be damned.

“Emotional, I can do. But Gerard specifically said he wants to “see some sex appeal” in our dance. Come on, Derek. He totally said that because I have zero ability to be sexy. I’m in the dictionary under _skinny nugget,_ not _sexy beast.”_ Stiles gestured to his ankles.

“Okay, stop it. Get up.” Derek pushed himself to his feet, and extended a hand to Stiles and pulling him up next to him.. He grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face the mirror. Stiles slumped at his own reflection, but Derek put his hand on the small of Stiles’ back, and pushed slightly to get Stiles to stand upright.

“Sex appeal is subjective. Different things are sexy to different people. Also, you’ll never understand your _own_ sex appeal. People say I’m sexy, and all I see are eyebrows that are too thick, a beard that refuses to slow down, and these stupid front teeth that are a little too long.”

Stiles turned to eye Derek over his shoulder. “Aww, you don’t like your bunny teeth?”

Derek turned Stiles’s face back to the mirror with an eye roll and a chuf to the back of the head. “ _Anyway,_ sex appeal isn’t what this dance is about. This dance is about the art of seduction. Let me show you.”

Derek took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a few moments. He let the character of the dance cloak him. It straightened his posture, it made his arms and fingers more fluid, it pointed his toes a bit more than was comfortable. He felt his hips loosen, his chest lift, his chin rise. He opened his eyes when he felt the character completely fill him. He heard quick inhale of breath from Stiles, and he turned his chin to look at his partner, who was watching their reflection in the mirror, wide-eyed. The hands that held Stiles in place were now loose, resting atop his shoulders gently. Derek pulled his left hand back to rest behind his hip, and as he stepped to the side, his right hand trailed across the wide band of Stiles’ shoulders, his middle finger just grazing the cotton of the gray shirt. Stiles turned his head to follow the line of Derek’s arm with his gaze, and when they finally locked eyes, Derek felt a sense of satisfaction at the shallow breaths he saw in his partner, the wide-eyed amazement at Derek’s slow and intentional movement. He stepped slowly and purposefully in a circle around Stiles, his eyes never wavering in their contact with his partner. When his hips brushed past Stiles, he pressed the pads of his feet more firmly into the ground, sending his hips in a purposeful roll. The hand trailing around Stiles’ shoulder slid across the chest now, Derek pleased to see the quick dart of Stiles’ tongue, the quick rise and fall of his chest. Derek’s hand traced down his partner’s right arm to just under his elbow, where, with a flick of his wrist, he flipped the loose-hanging arm into the air and caught Stiles’ hand in his own. Derek stepped in close, his right hip matching up with Stiles’ left, Derek’s free hand wrapping around Stiles’ waist and spanning his lower back. With a quick movement, he bent Stiles backward into a dip, supporting him with ease with his legs and his arms. Then, slowly and steadily, he raised Stiles back up and into his chest, their foreheads nearly touching.

Stiles’ eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted; Derek stared at them, feeling the pounding in his own chest. They had held each other this close in other dances, but this felt different in every single way. There was a buzzing beneath Derek’s palm where it was connected to Stiles’ own, a heat that was flowing up his arm and into his chest that had nothing to do with Stiles’ sweaty shirt.

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathed.

Derek flushed with pride at the reaction, and pulled back slightly. Stiles gripped his hand tighter into Derek’s. “No, dude. Don’t let go. I may fall over.”

Derek chuckled. “Wouldn’t want to do that.” Derek held him up for a moment or two, until Stiles shook his head and stepped back slightly, so they weren’t so close. Derek tried not to be disappointed by the space between them, but his heart yearned for the closeness even in the seconds they were apart.

Stiles released his grip and ran his hands through his hair. “Shit, dude. Seriously. That was insane. You, like, completely transformed in 3 seconds.”

Derek nodded. “Seduction is not about how you look or what you wear. It’s about eye contact. It’s about slow, deliberate movement. It’s about an awareness of your body that you allow to flow through your veins, and fill you up from the inside. Every other dance on this show you’ve performed for the audience. You’ve talked to them with your movement and your energy. You’ve seduced them for weeks, and they love you for it. For this dance, I want your body to talk to _me,_ and me alone.”

Stiles stared briefly over Derek’s shoulder at himself in the mirror. Derek wondered if he had gone too far, scared Stiles off. They still had time, he could rework the routine, make it simpler. He’d do whatever he needed to do to make Stiles feel comfortable. He still believed that Stiles had all of the talent and ability to perform it, and perform it exquisitely. But he wouldn’t push Stiles if he wasn’t ready.

Derek was pulled from his thoughts by Stiles’ nod. He lowered his head slightly, biting his bottom lip for a moment before stepping forward, back into Derek’s space.

“Alright then. It’s a good thing I like talking to you.”

He lifted his arms into position, and Derek smiled a small smile as he accepted the invitation to talk.

 

*****************

 

Five hours later, Stevie exited the dance practice space carrying the large camera, his assistant and the other cameraman and assistant following close behind. He closed the door behind them and exhaled audibly. When he turned around, three pairs of expectant eyes were on him.

“I gotta call Gerard.”

The grumbly voice picked up on the second ring. “Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to have the Hale and Stilinski footage to me hours ago, Levine.”

Stevie winced at the tone in his ear, but he knew his words would soothe the old man. “Sir. We got it.”

“You’d _better_ have it. I need my content before I die of old age.”

Stevie rolled his eyes, happy that they weren’t on a video call. “Yeah, I think you’ll be happy. The internet is going to explode over this one.”

 

*****************

 **Divine Moves Official @divinemovesdance** Four couples remaining! Who will hold the mirrored trophy at the end? Scott McCall, Allison Argent, Isaac Lahey, or Stiles Stilinski?

 **Divine Moves Fansite @dmdanceblog** Poll Question: Will Kate Bishop actually judge #Sterek fairly this week? Ha! We don’t even need a poll for that one. That girl has got the crazy eyes, and she is out for Derek’s blood. Hopefully their fans can make up for her low scores!

 **Arie saw Howlers 4x @all4isaac** We gotta be ready to VOTE, #LaheysArmy!! Those Sterek fans are crazy, but Isaac has been so good so far this season!

 **Pop Crave @PopCrave** Allison Argent and her partner Jordan Parrish seen out at Nobu this week with Scott McCall and dance partner Malia Tate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Divine Moves Fansite @dmdanceblog** The dances this week are meant to challenge the partnerships. What ballroom type do you think our couples will do?

 **Divine Moves Fansite @dmdanceblog** My sources tell me that Allison Argent and pro Jordan Parrish are doing a rhumba. Scott McCall and pro Malia Tate are doing a samba. The Moves floor is gonna be HOTT this week!

 **Divine Moves #1 Fan @dmovezzfan1** Isaac Lahey and Cora Hale will be dancing the Jive. I don’t know--seems a little easy for the last week, what do you think, Moves fans? Maybe the judges want to see the two of them actually smile for once?

 **Divine Moves Fansite @dmdanceblog** My sources tell me that Stiles and Derek are dancing an Argentine Tango this week. Looks like the judges want them to tap into their sexy side. What do you think, Moves fans?

 **Pamela Healy @pamela1973** Stiles Stilinski is going to have to be sexy?? Oh, this oughta be good. How do you make a jellyfish sexy?

 

************

 

Stiles stood in front of the full-length mirror, the costume designer, Barbara, walking around him in a circle, tugging and pulling on the fabric that stretched tightly across his shoulders. The deep-v neckline stretched low, nearly to his belly button, and Stiles’ fingers itched to pull the strips of fabric closer together.

“Barbara...I’m pretty sure I vetoed deep-vees in episode two.”

Barbara raised her eyebrows at him and pulled out the few pins she had been holding between her pursed lips. “Between the two of us, who is the Emmy-winning costume designer?”

“Touché, madam.” Stiles shot her double finger-guns, and she rolled her eyes at him, a barely-there smirk on her lips, and went back to work, tugging and pulling, stretching the impossibly tight fabric even tighter and pinning it in place. Thank God for Lycra, or he wouldn’t be breathing.

As it was, he was going to have to do something _down there,_ because if Derek stared at him on performance night the way he had been this week during practice, there was going to most certainly be a tightness problem happening in his lower-half that he would have a hard time hiding without any extra fabric. Maybe he wouldn’t have _that_ problem if he concentrated more on the tongue-lashing that Caitlin had given him yesterday when she broke up with him and stormed out of his apartment. Strangely, he wasn’t that torn up about it. It had been brewing for a while, not just “since meeting Derek,” like TMZ loved to speculate.

Although, if he let himself think it through, Derek may have opened Stiles’ eyes about his relationship with Caitlin. Derek treated Stiles so differently than she did. He was attentive and kind, jaw-droppingly beautiful—which had nothing to do with how he treated him, of course, it was just a bonus—the hardest worker Stiles had ever met, he was creative and brave and…anyway, Caitlin. Right. Stiles realized, very quickly, that her way of treating him made him feel pretty shitty. For a few months he had wondered if she was only with him because he was a producer, and she wanted roles. It said enough about their relationship that he wasn’t sure either way. It had only been a matter of time. But just as the talk on social media had messed with Stiles’ head about this week’s dance, it had also been the last straw for her. She had packed up her things and left in a blaze of glory.

“All done!” Barbara’s voice interrupted him from his thoughts. “Go get out of that—carefully now—and give it to me so I can make those final adjustments.”

Stiles leaned down to the stern lady with the piled-high bun and the measuring tape around her neck. “Barbara, my love, you’re the greatest.” He gave her an absurdly noisy, smacking kiss on the cheek, which made her roll her eyes and shoo him away with her hands.

“Out of here, you scoundrel.” As Stiles stepped behind his dressing curtain, he heard her holler, “And don’t poke yourself! I am out of Batman band-aids for you!”

Stiles smirked. Barbara gave him a tough time, but she was one of his favorite people on the _Divine Moves_ crew. She grumbled about his twitchiness when she was trying to measure him, but she also barked at anyone who gave him a hard time, _and_ managed to sneak in the good chocolate during their fittings (which Stiles wasn’t quite convinced wasn’t a deviously brilliant plan to keep his mouth full). She secretly loved him, he knew.

He glanced at himself in the full-length mirror situated in his changing area, and paused as he noticed the subtle changes that he could see in his body. He turned slightly to the left and to the right, noticing the curves and bumps in his figure that hadn’t been there when he was fitted week one.

He’d been rail-thin and chicken-legged for as long as he could remember. But dancing with Derek for the last eight (Nine? Ten? He’d lost count.) weeks, a layer of lean muscle had developed on top of his thin frame. He was stronger now. He held himself differently— straighter, more confidently. He...maybe he looked kind of _good._ He wouldn’t come out of this ready to be a swimsuit model, but maybe he could do this dance with the deep-v neckline without giggling like he was eleven years old again, with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Stiles? Can I come in?”

“Yep!” Stiles stuck his head around the curtain in his dressing area to see Derek peeking in the open door. Stiles grinned. “Hey— wait a minute. Look at your beard, dude!”

Derek raised a hand and stroked down the sides of his face. The salt-and-pepper strands were thick and well-groomed. “Yeah, it’s growing so fast, I figured I’d wait until the last minute this time to shave it off. Gerard says I look like an aging lumberjack like this.”

Stiles wanted, yet again, to punch Gerard. An aging lumberjack? That pissed him off. Their constant assault on Derek and his confidence was making Stiles insane. How could they treat him so poorly and just think it was okay? Derek looked _insanely hot_ with his scruff. And now, with it just slightly longer, it looked so incredibly soft. Stiles just wanted to rub his cheeks all over it and see how it would feel beneath his fingertips.

He had to shake himself out of that train of thought right away. “Hardly, man. You look really good like that. It makes you look softer, in a way?” Derek ducked his head with the words, and Stiles hoped that what he said was okay. It was true, though. Derek’s clean-shaven face was gorgeous, no doubt, but it also was more straight-edges and chiseled jaw. The beard made him look warm and vulnerable in a way he hadn’t ever looked on the show. “Hopefully that makes sense. Anyways, I really like it. You should keep it.”

Derek looked over at himself in the mirror, angling his head this way and that, as if trying to see what Stiles saw. “I’ll see what Carleigh says, I guess.” He turned his attention back to Stiles. “Is Barbara finished?”

“She just left. Are you here to check out her handiwork?”

“She told me to come and give my approval, so...yeah. Let’s see it.”

Stiles pulled his head back behind the curtain and hummed a few notes of their number aloud, teasingly throwing his leg around the curtain the way he did to Derek’s leg at one point in their routine. He heard the chuckle from the other side of the curtain, and he smiled to himself. He loved hearing that laugh. Derek didn’t laugh for many people— he hadn’t had too many reasons to smile in the last couple of years— but Stiles loved it when he could wrangle one or two from the stoic dancer. With a flash of bravado, Stiles threw back the curtain and jutted his chest out, walking with an over-exaggerated stance into the open dressing room where Derek stood leaning against the doorframe.

Stiles pulled on his sleeves, one at a time, popping an imaginary collar at Derek and smirking, “Well, Derek? We’re in Deep-V Territory now. What do you think? Barbara threw her Emmy-winning career at me when I argued about it.”

Derek just stared at him for a few moments, and Stiles’ joking manner started to falter. _Oh, god. Did he look completely ridiculous?_ No, he couldn’t freak out. He had just looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t look terrible.

“Speechless, eh? Has the sight of my intensely pale clavicle temporarily blinded you?”

Derek pushed himself off of the doorframe and slowly walked toward him. Well, “walked” was not the right word to describe what Derek was doing. He was...he was _stalking._ His head was angled slightly downward, but his gaze was locked through his lashes onto Stiles’ face, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. When he was finally standing directly in front of him, Stiles had to remind himself to _breathe._ Derek put his palms on Stiles’ shirt near his wrists, and slowly slid them up Stiles’ arms, his hands barely brushing the skin-tight fabric. Stiles could swear Derek’s hands were electrified, because every single goosebump on his arms felt like they were straining against the fabric. He had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from panting in Derek’s face. Derek’s hands finally reached his shoulders, where they traced along the fabric that clung to his chest. Stiles wished it wasn’t moving up and down so quickly, but when your heartbeat was rabbiting as fast as his was, it was hard to stop. He just hoped that Derek couldn’t feel it through his shirt.

“Hmm…” Derek said, his voice quieter and slightly more gravelly than usual. “You look...”

The silence between them seemed to stretch on, and as Derek inspected the front of his shirt, Stiles felt like the tension in the room quadrupled, making it even harder to breathe. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that Derek was a little more flushed than usual. But...that didn’t make any sense. Derek was so far out of Stiles’ league he was practically in orbit on another planet. There was no way that the sight of Stiles did anything to Derek. But as Stiles licked his lips nervously, there was no denying that Derek’s gaze moved to his mouth and didn’t leave. Stiles had to relieve the tension fast, or he was going to do something stupid, like lean forward and kiss him or something.

“Skinny, Derek.” Stiles stepped back, leaving Derek’s hands hovering in the space between them. Stiles crossed his arms so his hands wouldn’t reach out and pull Derek flush against him. “I look skinny. How is it that the shirt you get to wear for this routine is looser than mine? I’m going to look so small.”

Derek cleared his throat and dropped his hands quickly, taking a step back. “No, you...It looks really good, Stiles. You look strong.”

“Eh...I’ll never look as good as you in these things. But I don’t look as completely ridiculous in them as I would have in week one. I have you to thank for that.” He chuffed Derek on the shoulder, who flushed with the praise.

“I _am_ a little concerned about how the fabric is going to affect the lifts we have planned,” Derek said. “I don't want my hands to slip. We’ve only practiced with you having bare arms.”

“Bare _sweaty_ arms,” Stiles said with a grin. “Do you really think it will mess up the dance?”

“Well, to be honest, I have no idea. This isn’t something I’ve had to consider with my female partners— they almost always have bare arms. I’ll have to talk to Barbara about it.”

“Okay.” Stiles rubbed his hands up and down his biceps as he looked in the mirror, feeling the silkiness of the fabric against his palms. It made sense. There were some holds and lifts they were going to do that Derek needed a good grip on Stiles’ shoulders and arms to pull off, and the last thing they needed to be doing was worrying whether or not Stiles would face-plant on the floor in the middle of it. The dance was hard enough.

“Well, um...I’ve gotta change, so…”

Derek nodded and headed for the door. “Yeah, I’m going to go talk to Barbara. We have our blocking and lighting run-through in about 30 minutes. Will you be ready?”

“Ready as spaghetti!”

Derek rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t even make sense, you weirdo.”

Stiles chuckled. “You love me, don’t deny it.”

Derek chuckled back. “I would never.”

As Derek disappeared from his dressing room, Stiles tried to ignore how his heart flipped at Derek’s words. He moved back behind the curtain before peeling off his shirt, wincing only once as he stuck his armpit with a straight pin, and draped the costume over his arm. He stood in front of the mirror and stared at his bare chest, his pecs more defined than they had ever been, the new line of muscles defined along his stomach. He felt an unusual swell of pride in what his body had accomplished in the last few weeks. He and Derek had pushed it through pain, through sweat, and had come out here, the day before the finale, with something that he could be proud to show off at the beach and maybe in the bedroom again sometime.

Or...maybe…before then?

Okay, it was way outside of his comfort zone, and he might have to take some anti-anxiety meds before the show to calm his nerves just thinking about it, but...the dance they had planned was about seduction. Stiles hadn’t performed in anything even remotely revealing before this week. What if...what if he danced shirtless?

What if he surprised Derek with it?

Standing in the dressing area, clad only in his dance pants, he kicked his foot out and rocked back a few times, performing some of the more complicated moves of footwork in the choreography. He watched himself in the mirror as he did it, the muscles stretching and pulling across his shoulders, his ab muscles becoming more defined as he clenched them to roll and twist this way and that.

_Not bad, Stilinski. Not bad at all._

Derek wanted Stiles to talk to him with his body. Well, maybe this would be a good way to start the conversation.

He had to talk to Barbara.

 

*********************

 

Derek didn’t sleep well at all that night.

The blocking rehearsal had gone well, the lighting director especially pleased with the “money shot” that they had set up—the pose that the dancers would hold while being backlit to start the dance. He had shown what it looked like on his phone to Derek, and he had to admit, it looked really good. The streaks of light around their bodies were white, with some pink and purple and a little bit of yellow thrown in, and it really looked like they were in front of an exploding star or something.

Not to mention the pose for that moment was unlike anything that Stiles and Derek had done so far in the competition. For the most part, the space between them was respectable, the open-hold positions in their past routines lending themselves to keeping more of a “middle school dance space” between them. But this hold for the Argentine Tango? Derek and Stiles were pressed together from stomach to knee. Their arms were in firm closed hold, so their chests were a little apart and off-center, but there was no denying that they were getting close and comfortable in this one, even from minute one of the routine.

The rehearsal for the dance itself had gone well. Derek wanted to try running through it one more time with the new sleeves that Stiles would be wearing, but Barbara said that they wouldn’t make that much of a difference, and then Stiles complained that they needed to just rehearse it already because he “could do it in his sleep” and had “things to do,” and so they rehearsed in Stiles’ typical tshirt and Derek just prayed that it would be enough for the first time doing the routine live.

But the rehearsal and the dance itself weren’t what were keeping Derek awake. His mind kept coming back to the image of Stiles in the dressing room, his muscular back and arms highlighted by the tight black fabric, the image of his skin glowing in the lights of the dressing room, looking so perfect that it made Derek’s chest tighten at the sight of it. He had no idea that the moles that decorated Stiles’ face extended all the way down his chest, and his fingers had itched to see if they were under the fabric that covered the rest of his torso. Derek wanted to map them out with his hands, to see if Stiles had any other scars, or if his skin was as perfect as the swath that he had been shown this afternoon. Derek’s imagination had been running wild all day, and every time he closed his eyes he saw flashes of the pale skin, the plush lips that Stiles licked and bit at all day long, the reddish glow that came over his cheeks by the end of the routine. They floated through his mind like a slideshow, one after the other, until Derek really felt like he was going to go insane.

Stiles was with someone. He wasn’t the biggest fan of Caitlin Heather— her acting was subpar at best, and it had never seemed to Derek that she treated Stiles very nicely— but he hadn’t known them for very long, and it was not remotely his place to make judgements on their relationship. Plus, he’d been through enough shit with Kate to know that he wasn’t at all interested in getting in the way of someone else’s happiness. If Stiles was happy with her, then that was it.

He had to get this under control. This was their last week together. He didn’t want to mess it up with his dumb _feelings._ After this, Stiles would go back to producing, and pizza-making, and running his minor-league baseball team (seriously, how did he even have time for dating?), and Derek would...well, Derek would continue trying to keep Kate off of his back, and trying to get his studio back, and suiting up for the next contestant he would be paired with.

Unless they won.

His life would change if they won.

Because, _dammit,_ they actually had a shot. In the past, he knew he never had a chance--his partnerships were too volatile or too juvenile or too uncoordinated. But this season? The routine was so good, even if it scared the shit out of him for putting it on national TV, and Derek knew that if they could get the votes from the public, and get even a remotely decent score from the judges, then they could do it. They could win.

So yeah, Derek wasn’t sleeping. He was running through the routine in his head, he was imagining what social media would say, he was thinking of the post-dance judging, and the interviews, and how he could talk about Stiles without giving away the fact that he had feelings. He was certainly _not_ thinking about the pale skin and the moles and the quick wit and the relentlessly smart (and smart-ass) comments.

Nope. Not thinking about those at all.

Dammit.

 

*****************

 **Divine Moves Official @divinemovesdance** It’s Finale Day! Who will bring home the trophy, Scott, Allison, Isaac, or Stiles?

 **Liz Elaine @simplyn2deep** Is it 8pm yet?

 

*****************

 

Stiles sat in the chair in his dressing room, the finishing touches being put on his face. He didn’t get a lot of makeup put on, but the spray tan he had been subjected to earlier in the day needed to be blended in certain places, and the lights and cameras meant everyone put in a little bit of time in Carleigh’s chair.

Stiles could hear the music and the cheers through the thin walls of his dressing area. Isaac was out performing, and Stiles could tell the crowd was loving it. Scott and Malia’s Samba and Allison and Jordan’s rhumba had been similarly well-received. Stiles hadn’t actually watched the performances (that psyched him out _way_ too much), but the crowd had been cheering and clapping, and inferences could be made. The band was rocking, Jackson, the show’s emcee, was his charmingly smarmy self, and it sounded like everything was going smoothly. As smoothly as it could go on a live taping when everything had to be precise and perfect. Everyone seemed to be on their A-game tonight, as it should be for the finale.

“Ten minutes for Stiles.” The staticky voice called over the walkie-talkie at Carleigh’s hip. The reminder of his imminent performance sent Stiles’ pulse skyrocketing, and he chewed on his fingers nervously.

It would be fine. They had rehearsed and rehearsed, long into the night, even, to make sure that everything was good. There was one lift that was still a little shaky, and almost every time they ran through the footwork section, Stiles missed the kick _between_ Derek’s leg and hit his shin instead, but it was as good as it was going to get, especially with the near-meltdown that Stiles had experienced three days earlier.

Thank God for Derek, though. He had talked Stiles off the proverbial ledge and gotten him through the rehearsals and to this point. He had been patient and Stiles’ rock to lean on. He had enough confidence for the two of them put together—-at least Stiles hoped so, because he certainly was unsure.

“Are you nervous, sweetie?” Carleigh asked. She had bubblegum pink streaks in her hair, heavily-winged eyeliner, and a southern accent that Stiles just adored.

Stiles pulled his thumb out of his mouth, the thumbnail bitten down nearly to the point of blood. “Uh, yeah? I haven’t shown this much skin in public since the Naked Pool Incident of ‘97.”

Carleigh giggled. “Well, Megs will be upset ‘cause you messed up your mani. But other than that, you look good. Your pecs are really poppin’.” She dabbed at his chest with a sponge, and Stiles jerked a bit with laughter.

“I’ve literally never heard anyone say that to me in my entire life.”

She shrugged. “Well, get used to it, sweetheart. You’re debuting those gorgeous muscles on national TV.”

Stiles groaned. “Oh god, don’t remind me!”

She concentrated on a line down his ribs, and spoke softly. “Derek doesn’t know about this, right?”

“No, not yet, though I’m shocked I’ve kept it a secret until now.”

She chuckled a bit. “Yeah, I’m surprised your chattiness didn’t spill the beans already. I’m impressed.”

“First time for everything.”

Carleigh dabbed at his ribcage a couple more times before spraying it with a cool spray that make his stomach clench in surprise. She blew on the spray, drying it, before speaking. “I gotta thank you.”

“ _Thank_ me?” Stiles looked down at her. “For what?”

“Derek’s been really prickly the last few years. But this season, he really feels like he’s having a good time. We’re all convinced it’s ‘cause of you. Don’t tell Scott, but…” her voice dropped low, “...I’m rooting for you. For both of you.”

Stiles knew she meant on the show, but she looked up at him and winked a sly wink at him, and suddenly he wasn’t sure. She pressed on his side one final time with the sponge, and stood up.

“Alright, sweet cheeks. You’re all done.” She handed him a black robe. “This will keep you warm until go time.”

He accepted it gratefully, sliding it around his shoulders. “ _Thank you._ This AC is killing me.”

“Well, in about 5 minutes, you’ll be hot like fire.” She kissed her fingers and pressed them to his robe, right above his heart. “Break a leg, sweetie!”

Stiles exhaled long and slow. “Yeah…”

Carleigh swung the door open and hustled out, and a PA named Bill poked his head in.

“All set for you, Stiles.”

Stiles’ mouth suddenly felt as dry as the Sahara. He nodded, a bit numbly, and followed the PA. The judges were finishing up their commentary on Isaac’s dance, and the cheers and boos rained down around them as they walked under the audience bleachers to the back of the stage area. It was hard to tell how everyone was doing score-wise. Honestly, since the first few weeks, Stiles had avoided watching everyone else’s dances. He found he totally psyched himself out if he did, and ended up being an emotional wreck by the start of his own dance. Derek had instituted the policy that Stiles stayed in the dressing room until his time to perform, and it had done a lot for his emotional state ever since then.

Just another way that Derek watched out for him during this whole competition.

Stiles concentrated on the floor in front of him, following Bill’s heels as they stepped around cords and under cross-beams. The last thing he needed was to trip on a lighting rig and brain himself. He ran through the routine in his mind as he did so, listening to the coaching tips in Derek’s voice running over and over on a loop: point with your toes, please don’t kick my shins, keep your core tight, maintain the hold, stand upright, don’t rush, eye contact, let your body talk to me. Over and over and over the words ran through Stiles’ mind, Derek’s voice a soothing balm for his nerves.

“Are you cold?” Derek’s real voice broke him out of his mantra voice, and Stiles realized he was standing in the wings, looking onstage, with Derek nudging his shoulder.

“Uh….yeah. Just, y’know, nervous.” The audience was muttering to themselves, the crew running around the stage— it was a commercial break, and they had to clear the set and reset the lighting from Isaac’s dance to Stiles’. They had just another minute before Derek needed to go to the other side of the set. To start the dance, they’d enter from opposing wings of the stage and meet in the middle for the lighting money shot they had set up the previous day in rehearsal. It would be the first time America—and Derek—would see Stiles’ wardrobe change.

“Hey,” Derek grasped Stiles’ hand and squeezed it gently until Stiles looked his way. “You’re gonna be great. Just talk to me, right?”

“Right. A conversation.”

“Okay, I’m gonna go get situated. Break a leg!” Derek squeezed Stiles’ hand once more, and made to leave, but suddenly Stiles was filled with a panic. This was their last dance together. And he just needed Derek to _know._ He gripped Derek’s hand before he was able to pull away, and held on fast. Derek looked at him in concern.

“Der, I just need to say that you...that we…” He was frustrated at his sudden inability, in this one moment, to say what he wanted to say in a way that meant anything. He rubbed his free hand along the back of his neck. “This has just been the most…”

Derek stepped close to Stiles yet again, shushing him gently. He pulled Stiles in close for a hug, a first for the two of them, at least in this kind of context. They had danced together in hold for weeks, but here, in the darkness of the stage’s wings, was the first time they dared to get this close to each other outside of a dance. They were similar heights, but they slotted together so perfectly, and Stiles wanted to hold on and never let go.

But his hopes didn’t match up with reality, because all too soon the producer announced, “Coming back from commercial in 30, people!” and Derek pulled back slightly, his lips next to Stiles’ ears.

His voice was a hushed whisper that sent shivers down Stiles’ spine. “I _know,_ Stiles. Tell me about it in the dance.”

Derek pulled back again, his hands firmly on Stiles’ upper arms. Stiles wasn’t imagining that Derek’s gaze lingered on his lips for just a hair too long, and Stiles wished he would just lean forward a bit, so that he would know he could return the kiss. But then Derek gave his arms a squeeze and he nodded, and then disappeared behind the stage. Stiles was left with empty arms and a feeling of _what if_ resonating in his mind.

He could barely make out Derek’s face from across the darkened stage. He was standing in the wing opposite him, his blue shirt illuminated in a few of the off-stage lights, his black pants disappearing in the dark. He was chatting quietly with a PA standing next to him, but he was staring at Stiles. The lights on the stage and in the audience were dimmed, the audience quieting down as the countdown to being back from commercial began.

There would still be a minute of the rehearsal footage that would need to be shown before they danced. Stiles knew that it wouldn’t be pretty: the crew guys only had a few moments of practicing before Stiles had thrown the water bottle. But he knew that it wouldn’t matter in the long run. The audience would know that after that rehearsal, they had pulled it together to make this routine happen.

All that was left now was to sell the emotion of the dance. With the multitude of feelings that were flying through Stiles’ mind and heart right now, it shouldn’t be that hard.

Stiles could see, out of the corner of his eye, the center stage illuminating Jackson Whittemore, the show’s emcee.

“Our final contestants tonight have overcome many obstacles to get to the finale tonight. Let’s see how their rehearsals went this week.”

The house lights dimmed completely as the pre-taped video package played over the speakers. In the studio, the cameras moved to different places, setting up for Derek and Stiles’ first shot, the audience unaware, their attention on the small screens dotted throughout the theater. Stiles wanted to see what Gerard had made the editors scrape together from the footage, so he craned his neck slightly. It was Derek’s face alone on the screen.

“This week was our toughest week yet. Stiles and I have worked together as a team surprisingly well throughout this competition, but several factors contributed to this routine being one of our most challenging.”

As Derek spoke, there were clips of Stiles attempting boleos and ganchos and kicking Derek’s shins instead of kicking between or around them (which drew some laughter from the audience), and Stiles tripping over his own feet, Derek looking on with genuine concern in his expression. Stiles cringed at his own ineptitude, and couldn’t help thinking, yet again, how this would come across to America. The legions of haters would be having a field day with this, enjoying the sight of Stiles Stilinski, inventor and producer, falling on his face in failure.

His breath started to quicken for a moment, but Derek’s voice, yet again, calmed him—this time, from the video. “But Stiles, as always, rose to the challenge. He’s been one of the most consistent partners I have ever had, and I am so lucky to have been partnered with him. Not a lot of people would be able to stand up to the scrutiny and the judgement that he has, but he does it all with a smile and a laugh. He inspires me.”

There were other interviews now, from other contestants about Stiles and Derek and their online support phenomenon, but Stiles didn’t hear any of it. His attention was fully on Derek now, who was looking across the stage at him with what Stiles could only describe as a sense of pride. A small smile broke over Derek’s face, and he ducked his head in the adorable, slightly embarrassed way that Stiles just loved.

Derek, who started out this competition thinking he had a female partner, who instead was saddled with Stiles and, along with him, even more controversy and judgement than he should have had to handle. And yet he stood there, ready for their last performance, one that could literally make or break his career. If he could be that brave for Stiles, well then...Stiles would be brave, too.

Keeping eye contact with Derek, he pulled the robe off of his shoulders. The lights and the noise from the pre-taped package were still playing, but Stiles barely heard them. He zeroed out everything from his vision, from his hearing, except for Derek. He felt a deep sense of satisfaction when Derek’s mouth dropped open, his eyes roaming over Stiles’ arms and chest. Stiles wanted to cross his arms, to hide, but he tamped down that feeling; instead, he stood up a little taller, stuck his chest out a little more. He set his arms into position at his sides, slightly elevated and back from his body so he felt a little like a bullfighter— strong and in charge.

Stiles could see Derek’s mouth and eyes close, watched him inhale deeply. He was putting on his character, and Stiles followed his lead and did the same.

The last of the lights and sound from the video ended, and from a far corner of the performance space, a single light shone on Jackson.

“Performing the Argentine Tango to ‘El Tango de Roxanne’ from the movie _Moulin Rouge_ , please welcome Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale!”

The applause from the crowd was deafening. Stiles could barely hear the first strains of their music, the Spanish-influenced melody of the violin setting the mood instantly. White lights from the floor illuminated Stiles on one side of the stage, and Derek on the other. With one final cleansing breath, Stiles walked slowly and deliberately across the stage to the center. Derek had on his “stalking eyes,’ as Stiles had so aptly nicknamed them, and Stiles was looking back at him with as much intensity as he could muster. When they met in the middle of the stage, they barely hesitated before sliding into their money pose. Derek’s arm slid behind Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, pressing them together from knee to waist. Stiles felt Derek’s fingers caressing the bare skin that lay under his fingertips, and Stiles had to will himself to maintain his posture, to not arch backward into Derek’s touch. He wanted to feel Derek’s hands all over his fevered skin. Stiles held along Derek’s right arm with his left, frustrated for the first time at Derek’s baggy shirt. He, too, wanted to feel the slide of Derek’s skin against his palm. Their heads leaned in close together, and Stiles answered Derek’s slight smile with one of his own when they slotted together in a way that had become so familiar.

Stiles was determined to let himself revel in the dance. It was probably the last time they would be together like this, with the lighting and the music, the costumes and the choreography. He would not let the opportunity to be close to Derek and pour his heart into his movements pass him by.

Just before Derek pulled him into the first section of the dance, Derek leaned close to Stiles’ temple and whispered, “Let’s talk, baby.” Stiles only just heard it above the music, but he bit the smile that threatened his bottom lip and stepped along with Derek into the first turn.

The routine started with a calesita, a carousel step, Derek pulling Stiles into his chest and pivoting him around on one foot, the music echoing across the stage. They traveled from the center of the stage across to the far side of the dance space. Stiles’s eyes stayed locked on Derek’s as they alternated between slow, deliberate steps and quick staccato ones across the dance floor. The first movements were meant to establish the intimate connection between them to the audience, and the rise and fall of their movements timed perfectly with the music, the slow crossbody steps and turns moving with the rhythm of the strings.

Derek’s choreography had them in constant connection with each other. Hand-to-hand and chest-to-chest, they moved across the dance floor like they were one body with multiple moving parts. The culmination of this section was in the far corner of the dance floor, their first series of leg wraps, fast-moving front and back boleos and ganchos that sent the audience into a flurry of applause (and one lady nearly screaming when Stiles did a back boleo so high it looked like he nearly kicked himself in the back of the head).

Stiles wrapped his arm around Derek as they moved into the next section of choreography, his partner’s pulse racing beneath his fingertips, the music reaching another crescendo, the male vocalist’s voice reverberating throughout the studio. They weaved in criss-crossing patterns around the center of the dance space, alternating the slow-slow-quick movements, and Stiles felt the voice of the singer burning in his chest. The yearning in the tone, the desperateness of his pleas made it easy for Stiles to stay in the character of the dance. But it wasn’t just the yearning of the dance— it was the yearning of Stiles himself. Wanting to stay with Derek, wanting this passion and this closeness to extend long past the competition. When they reached the center of the stage again, Derek lifted Stiles into their first lift, the one they had stumbled through in rehearsals. But there was no stumble this time, and when Derek hoisted Stiles above his head and Stiles trustingly arched backwards, Derek supporting him with one hand under his back and one hand behind his knees, there was an audible gasp from the audience, followed by deafening applause. The lift made it look like Derek was offering Stiles as a sacrifice, but in reality, Stiles knew it was Derek who made himself the sacrifice. Stiles ached to tell him that he didn’t have to continue to kill himself in this career, that there was more to his life, more to _them_ than he would ever be able to say out loud.

But he couldn’t. Instead, he threw everything he wanted to say into the dance. As Derek slowly lowered Stiles to the floor, and they sank low together, Stiles used the lines of his fingers that wrapped around Derek’s own, the strength of his chest as he held the push and pull, as the words that he wanted so desperately to say.

Every time they pressed their hold close together, he used the hold to tell Derek, _you are wanted._ When they paced across the floor with intricate footwork, he used the soles of his feet to communicate, _you are strong._ When Derek flipped Stiles backwards over one of his extended arms, Stiles used it to say, _I trust you completely._

For the duration of the dance, Stiles’ eyes never left Derek’s face. The intensity and the concentration Stiles saw reflected in the gray-green-hazel eyes made him want to try even harder to deserve the effort. As the dance intensified, the competing violin strains ratcheting up into a crescendo, Stiles threw his soul into the long lines of his legs, first wrapping one completely around Derek’s hips, and then throwing it behind him in a sweeping boleo kick.

The routine was not completely without flaw— a slight misstep into their next lift caused Derek to take an extra step for balance, and shortly after that Derek’s hands slipped on Stiles’ bicep and nearly threw them out of their hold, but Derek’s face didn’t betray a single misstep, and Stiles felt completely confident in his partner to hold him, to keep them going forward. The two of them moved across the floor, completely in sync, as the music shifted to one of Stiles’ favorite moments of the dance. A heightened moment of musical tension— a long, sustained note on the violin in a slightly minor key— echoed across the stage as he and Derek transitioned into the next movement, and the audience held their breath in anticipation, the tension in the air palpable.

Derek turned Stiles away with a sweep from his leg, and pressed up against Stiles’ back, his arm wrapping across Stiles’ chest. Stiles lifted his leg in a back boleo, and Derek grabbed onto his thigh and pulled him upward, lifting him off the floor and holding him tightly against his body. Stiles’ head fell back against Derek’s shoulder, and Derek turned his own face into Stiles’ neck, his hot mouth just millimeters from Stiles’ ear. Stiles’s pulse quickened, his heart pounding at the feeling of Derek’s body pressed so close to his. In this hold, it felt like they were pressing together to become one body. Stiles wanted nothing more than for the show to fade away, for Derek to hold him in this intimate way because he wanted to, not because they were in a competition. Stiles remembered to hold tightly to Derek’s arm along his stomach and behind Derek’s hip so that, as Derek began to spin, he wouldn’t fly out of the hold. Stiles lifted his other leg behind him, wrapping his smaller body completely around Derek’s.

Stiles allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and revel in the feeling of being completely enveloped and supported by Derek as they spun across the dance floor, the music temporarily drowned out by the applause from the audience.

As Derek began to slow down, Stiles kicked his way out of the hold just so, looking like he was running through the air, held only by Derek’s arms and hip. It was just like the competition itself: Derek doing the work and supporting Stiles’ efforts and not being noticed in return. This routine made Stiles look incredible— like he was simultaneously strong and lithe, lightweight and grounded. But it would be nothing without the solid foundation of Derek as a partner. Stiles never had to wonder if the intricate holds that Derek planned would fail. He never wondered if, when Derek threw Stiles around his back and up into a lift, if his hands would slip or if he wouldn’t be strong enough. He just knew that Derek had him.

And Stiles, for his part, supported Derek right back. When they reversed the lead, Derek stepped even with Stiles and threw his own heel almost completely around the back of the both of them, earning more gasps and cheers from the audience. Derek had told them in rehearsal that he couldn’t do it if Stiles didn’t have a strong core and firm footing, so Stiles made sure to hold up his part, and be there for Derek in the dance in the way that he had promised he would.

And it worked. When Derek flung Stiles in another lift from one side of his body to the other, then tilting him backwards over his hip like a cape, the gasps and cheers and applause from the audience fueled Stiles. The next section of push and pull between them across the dance floor again looked like a conversation--Derek would take the lead, pushing Stiles backward through concentrated footwork, all the while looking at him with fire in his expression— and then Stiles would take the lead in return, driving Derek backward with his own passion. Stiles felt strong and in control, and he led with his chest high.

The dueling male voices in the music signaled the crescendo of the end of the routine, and Derek’s choreography ramped up in its desperation. For their final pass across the dance floor, this time in front of the judges, Derek lifted Stiles into a closed-hold position completely off the floor. Stiles wrapped his arm around Derek’s back, his hand threading into Derek’s hair, and clung to him as he spun in a tight circle. Stiles felt the muscles on Derek’s back rippling under his forearms, and tried not to cry as he thought about how their dance was coming to a dramatic end. He curled his legs to the side and then flung them outward, creating a dramatic picture that had the audience’s vocal approval yet again.

At the music’s final crescendo, Stiles could feel his heart beating, anticipation flooding his body as he and Derek moved to center stage for the final big lift. It was a risky move on Derek’s part—even one wrong connection and Stiles would go flying to the floor in a heap, and Derek could get seriously hurt too—but as they moved into it, Derek gave the slightest of nods and Stiles was able to relax into the movements. He rock-stepped into Derek’s arms, who lifted him up and around the back of Derek’s neck. Stiles twisted his body at the apex of the lift and slid his legs around Derek’s waist, where Derek once again twisted him around and lifted him up and around his neck. Stiles twisted around one more time and landed soft-footed on the floor in front of Derek. Stiles couldn’t help the huge smile that broke over his face and the crowd immediately stood to their feet in applause.

Stiles felt exhilarated. They had made it. They did a few final leg lifts and mirror steps, punctuating their movements to the final, intense notes of the song, and as the strings clashed, Derek threw Stiles backwards into a dramatic ending figure, one arm supporting his back, one hand clasped around Stiles’ own. Derek’s face was turned to Stiles’ neck, and when the final note ended, there was a brief millisecond of silence before the entire room exploded with a wall of cheers.

Derek and Stiles, breathing heavily together, held the figure pose for a few moments before Derek slowly lifted Stiles upright, their arms immediately wrapping around each other. They held each other for a few moments, the deafening applause and cheers from the audience ringing in their ears, before Derek took Stiles’ face in his hands, leaning their foreheads together, and Stiles grasped onto the lapels of Derek’s shirt. Their breath intermingled in the bare space between them, and Stiles wished the cameras were gone, wished the cheering crowd would disappear, because he felt bare and torn apart, and he didn’t want anyone to see.

“Thanks for talking with me,” Stiles finally managed to say, his voice cracking on the last word.

Tears erupted into his eyes, and Derek pulled Stiles into his chest, wrapping his strong, broad arms around his shoulders, his chin against Stiles’ temple. Stiles buried his face into Derek’s chest, and he had never felt so safe and supported as he was in that moment.

He never wanted it to end.

 

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[Do yourself a favor and click here to watch the dance that directly inspired this chapter.](https://youtu.be/-6-6kN79oIA)

 

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 **Samantha Burns @bisexualsam** I don’t think I breathed during that entire routine.

 **Jenn <3 <3 <3 @JennC1983** Listen, I’m trying to have a life right now, and I’m crying. I was caught unprepared for that! #TeamSterek

 **Divine Moves #1 Fan @dmovezzfan1** Oh. My. God. They win. Everyone else go home. #TeamSterek

 

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	3. Chapter 3

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 **Liz Elaine @simplyn2deep** Derek Hale has never looked better. #TeamSterek

 **Pamela Healy @pamela1973** Ugh. Now I have to listen to everyone tongue-bathe St*rek for the next 2 days? I’M OVER THEM. #TeamJordallison

 **Mr. Benji Schwimmer @BenjiSchwimmer** YOU SEE THAT, DANCE WORLD? THAT is how same-sex ballroom is done. Derek Hale is a masterful choreographer.

 

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Derek breathed heavily into Stiles’ neck, feeling a mixture of elation and exhaustion and sheer joy. They had done it. No matter what happened in this competition results-wise, Derek would be overwhelmed with this moment for the rest of his life.

Stiles’ skin was hot under his palms, the exertion from the dance manifesting in a sheen of sweat that glistened under the studio lights. Derek slowly pulled back, and he felt Stiles quickly wiping the tears away from under his eyes. Derek loved seeing the look of pure joy in them. He was sure that feeling was mirrored in his own. He wanted to take Stiles’ face in his hands again, to run his thumbs under the moisture on his cheeks, to tangle his fingers in the longer strands of hair behind his ears.

Instead, he took a deep breath and extended his hand to Stiles, who grasped it with a broad smile. They turned towards the judges’ table and walked to their mark to join Jackson, who was standing with a microphone and trying to calm the crowd that was still standing and cheering.

At least they knew that the audience liked it. He hoped that translated to the judges and the rest of America. After the producers of the show stepped onto the stage off-camera and signaled for the audience to quiet and sit down, Jackson was finally able to address the audience and the waiting camera.

“Wow, what an effort by our first same-sex ballroom couple, Stiles and Derek! How are you feeling, gentlemen?”

Derek hated this part of the show. They were sweaty and hot and panting, and the last thing they wanted to do was try to answer inane questions about their dance. But, as ever, Stiles was ready.

“I feel amazing, Jackson! I didn’t kick Derek in the nuts at all tonight!”

The audience laughed, and there were even a few cat calls from the audience, as well.

“Well, that’s definitely a good thing,” Jackson smarmed. “Do you feel you gave your best effort tonight?”

 _No, we purposefully tried to do the worst we could do just this once,_ was what Derek wanted to say, but he just bit his tongue as Stiles answered.

“Oh, yeah. This routine came together so well in the last few days; I really owe everything to Derek here for sticking with me and bringing out the best in me and my dancing.”

Stiles turned to look at Derek with the most tender look in his eyes. Derek felt his heart skip a beat, but he remembered that at least 4 cameras were trained on them, so he tried to keep his expression professional, instead of giving away how he truly felt.

“And Derek?” Jackson asked. “How do you feel about your performance?”

Stiles looked his way as the question was asked, and Derek realized that his partner was just as interested in this answer as the audience was. How could Derek express how happy he was? He was terrible with words. He decided to ignore Peter altogether— the only way he could give the best answer is if he just told Stiles how he felt. So he turned away from the cameras and faced Stiles directly, taking a breath, trying to quell the nerves he felt at saying things on camera. He pulled Stiles’ hand up to his heart and held it close to his chest between his own hands, and looked into his face.

“This routine wasn’t easy. I kind of pulled out the stops for it in the choreography, but you took everything with such enthusiasm and bravery. I just...you were so amazing. I am so incredibly proud of you, Stiles.”

Derek saw the flush creep into Stiles’ cheeks as his eyes cast down to their joined hands. Stiles looked back up at him and pulled Derek into a hug with his free hand. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist and whispered lowly into his ear, “Thanks for talking to me out there.”

Stiles’ little half-smile made Derek’s heart do another flip-flop, and he knew he had to look away before he did something completely stupid on national TV. He turned back to face the judges and his fluttering heart dropped like a lead weight when he saw the cold, calculating look on Kate’s face. She stared at him for a moment before leaning over to Adrian, the judge sitting on her right, and whispering in his ear.

It was amazing that Derek hadn’t even given her a second thought the whole night. But now, standing in front of her like she was his own judge and executioner, Derek felt the weight of the entire thing settle down on him. Her points held so much weight tonight. And given the look on her face, he wondered if he had any shot at getting a fair score from her. He had done enough of this show to know that they should get all 9s and 10s. But with Kate on the panel? It was anyone’s guess. He squeezed Stiles’ hand.

Jackson turned to the judges’ table, as well. “That’s great to hear, gentlemen. Now, let’s hear from our judge’s panel. What did you think of this dance, Kira?”

Kira Yukimura, a former competitive dancer and the youngest of the trio of judges, had been on the panel for about three seasons, and was an audience favorite. Sweet, encouraging and slightly goofy, she frequently scored everyone a little higher than they deserved, but her enthusiasm and her joy for the dances endeared her to everyone. It was unsurprising, then, when she jumped up from her chair with wild, giggling cheers, causing the audience to burst into applause yet again.

“Oh, my goodness, you two! That was just...wow wow wow!” The audience cheered along with her, and Derek squeezed Stiles’ hand in encouragement. Kira settled herself back down into her chair and patted her hair back into place. “Okay, let me start with Derek.”

Derek straightened his shoulders. Kira had always been kind to him, even when he hadn’t delivered the best performances. Hopefully she would continue to be kind tonight.

“That was some of the best choreography I have ever seen on this show.” The cheers from the audience erupted again, but the producers must have told her in her inner-ear mic to hurry it along, because she talked over the audience as much as she could, Derek straining to hear her over the crowd’s cheering. “The timing of the movement along with the music took us on this intense journey. It was technically challenging and well-structured, and just...really really great work. You’ve become a really incredible choreographer during your time on this show.”

Derek flushed at her praise and the cheers that followed it, and he felt Stiles squeezing his hand and murmuring his agreement under his breath. Derek truly hoped that people would see that— that his time on the show was beneficial to his future and not a hindrance. Being a choreographer and a teacher was what he wanted now that his own professional dance career was coming to a close.

“And Stiles,” Kira said, some more cheers punctuating her words. “Oh my god, that was exquisite work! Your footwork was quick and on point, your posture was the best I have ever seen it. And I think everyone in this studio would agree: you looked _so sexy!”_ The catcalls from around the studio erupted again, and he heard Stiles emit a snort and a chuckle before covering his chest with his hand. “You have really taken on the challenge of this competition and have emerged as a technically proficient dancer in such a short time. Derek is proud of you, and I am proud of you, and I hope you won’t mind me saying it, but...you mentioned your mom in the taped package last week, and I think that she is looking down on you right now and is proud of you, too.”

Derek looked over at Stiles, who was struggling to hold back his tears again. Derek released his hand and wrapped it around the back of Stiles’ waist instead, pulling him in close. His thumb caressed the skin on Stiles’ lower back, and he felt Stiles lean into his side.

Stiles had told Derek a little bit about his mom before last week’s show, how she had passed away and how so many of the things that he did were, in a way, trying to make her proud of the man he had become. She was obviously very important to Stiles, and Derek knew that talking about her in some ways was still really hard, even so many years later.

“Adrian?” Jackson asked. “How about you? Did you feel that the dance was up to finale standards?”

The male judge flashed a quick look to Kate, and Derek noticed the slight nod that she returned to him. His nerves ramped up as Adrian Harris, longtime judge on _Divine Moves_ and member of the British Dance Council, looked down his nose at the dance pair.

“I did not.”

Derek felt Stiles stiffen under his hand, and he felt himself do the same. The audience erupted in a chorus of boos, and Jackson gestured to Adrian to continue.

“This happens every year. One dance in the finale will fail to live up to the standard I have come to expect, and I’ll be left yet again questioning my decision to ever become a judge. This year, that dance is yours.”

Kira rolled her eyes and interjected. “You can’t just decide that _now,_ Adrian. You haven’t held the other couples to that same standard. Stiles and Derek were well above the other couples tonight in terms of their execution.”

Adrian cast her a sideways glance and frowned. “I have certainly been fair in my assessments of each individual dance thus far.” When Kira moved to protest again, he held up his hand to silence her. “You may not agree with my assessment, but that is what it is. The footwork in the beginning was sloppy, the abrazo cerrado and abrazo abierto embraces were loose and undefined. You pulled off the seduction of the dance, but not the technical execution.”

Kira leaned in front of Adrian and called out, “I don’t agree with that at all, for the record.”

She and Adrian started arguing back and forth, with Jackson trying to mediate, but Derek didn’t hear any of it. His heart felt crushed as the boos rained down on the judges, especially Adrian, who shrugged at the audience dismissively. Derek knew now what the nod between him and Kate meant. Derek had no doubt now that Adrian knew fully what she was doing to him, and was now complicitly on board with the whole thing. And for Derek, it meant that there was no way he was getting out of his debt with Kate this season. Barring some miracle, the votes from the two of them would stack against them, and they’d lose.

Where Stiles had been struggling with his emotions before, now it felt like his own tears were welling just under the surface. They had tried so hard and had succeeded—Derek wouldn’t know for sure until he went back and watched the tape from tonight’s show, but he was fairly confident that Adrian’s commentary about the dance was wrong—and now they’d be graded unfairly because of it. He tried to maintain his pleasantly neutral face, only squeezing Stiles’ hand a little bit. The cameras were pointed at the judges at this point, so he didn’t think anyone noticed his struggle—except Kate, of course. Her eyes were on him like a hawk, an evil smirk on her face like she was the ringmaster of the circus surrounding her, and she couldn’t be happier with how it was playing out.

In the midst of the chaos, Stiles pulled gently on Derek’s hand. He leaned over to Derek’s ear, and gently whispered, “So, do you think Adrian shoved the stick up his own ass, or do you think he got help from someone else?”

Derek chuckled, instantly thankful to be facing this judge’s panel with Stiles by his side.

“Stiles! I’m surprised to find you smiling after those comments,” Jackson interrupted. “What do you think about Mr. Harris’ comments?”

“Well, I wouldn’t presume to know more than Mr. Harris about anything of importance.” Derek had to hold back his laughter. Stiles was smarter than Adrian Harris by about 150 IQ points, and infinitely more clever. He was also extremely pragmatic, and he knew he’d never get the audience votes by outright arguing with a reality show judge. “I just know that Derek and I did the best that we possibly could have with the dance, and it’s up to America’s votes to help us bring home that trophy.”

The audience cheered at that statement, and Stiles smiled and waved to the crowd. Derek watched him in awe. He was so good at this. It was no wonder he was a successful Hollywood producer.

Jackson quieted the crowd. “Kate. It’s no secret that you have not been a fan of Stiles and Derek’s dancing this season. Is this the dance that finally wins you over?”

Derek didn’t even look at Kate. He knew what was coming. Kate had thinly veiled her distaste for Derek the entire season. After Adrian’s comments, she was sure to eviscerate them both. He just wanted to finally get off this stage and tell Stiles how incredibly happy he was about the dance.

The audience seemed to be holding their breath in anticipation of Kate’s comments, too. Not a single person in the audience was prepared for what they heard.

“Stiles. Derek. I loved this dance.”

The gasp from the audience was audible. In fact, a woman in the second row let out a bellowing, “What?!” that made the audience burst into laughter. Stiles and Derek were frozen, too.

Kate’s voice was soft and sincere. “I know I have given you a hard time through this season, but it’s because after the first dance I knew you had so much potential and I felt like you were wasting it. This routine was the first time I felt the connection between the two of you. And the lifts? Wow, they were stunning. The routine wasn’t perfect, there were a couple of missteps and holds that weren’t clean, but overall, well done, the both of you.”

There was silence after Kate’s judgement, and then slowly the audience seemed to realize what happened and they erupted into applause yet again. Jackson, too, was surprised as he congratulated the two of them. When he called for the judges’ scores, Kira held up a 10 paddle, Adrian a 6 (with loud boos from the audience), and Kate an 8.

Jackson announced that those scores would double and be combined with America’s “Instant Votes” that would be tabulated over the next 30 minutes— people could vote via a phone call, a vote on the website, or by texting. He congratulated Stiles and Derek and sent them off the stage, repeating the numbers for voting for all of the couples and encouraging everyone to vote. The show’s theme music played as the show went to commercial.

When they got off of the stage and into the wings, Stiles turned back to him. “What the fuck was _that?”_

Derek was genuinely bewildered. “I have no idea. I guess...she liked the dance?”

“Bullshit,” Stiles spat. “She hasn’t liked a damn thing we’ve done all season, and now all of a sudden she acts like our biggest fan? She gave us an _eight,_ Derek. _A fucking eight!_ Last week she gave us a four on my dead-mom-dance. This makes no goddamned sense.”

“It makes absolute perfect sense.” Stiles spun around to see Kate walking toward them, a sense of satisfaction written on her face. “I don’t know why you think I have it out for you both. Are you believing every word you read on social media, Stiles?”

Stiles flushed, and Derek remembered the blowup they’d had earlier in the week because of that exact issue.

Derek stepped up to her, his frustration nearly rolling off of him. “What’s your angle, Kate?”

Kate blinked up at him, innocently. “Whatever do you mean, darling? I just want the best for my former lover, don’t you know?”

Derek wanted to be sick. Or punch her in her stupidly self-satisfied face. But he wouldn’t do either, because he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction, and because Stiles pulled him back a little bit and tried to do it himself. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ middle and held him back just in time.

“Look, you witch—”

“—Alright, Stiles, let’s go.”

Derek turned and pulled the protesting Stiles along with him, the sound of Kate’s laughter drifting behind them as they made their way to the dressing area.

When they were out of sight of Kate, Derek released Stiles, who flailed in protest. “Why’d you stop me, huh?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Because the voting just started, and if Kate goes out there with a black eye, no one will vote for us.”

Stiles see-sawed his head in concession. “Yeah, probably. Ugh, why do you always have to be the practical one?”

Derek smiled at him. “Well, one of us has to be.”

******************

 **Christmas! @RitchMapp** Did you see the heart eyes that Stiles was giving to Derek during that post-dance interview? And Stiles said “help US bring HOME the trophy”?? Like— their home together! AZKKAKWSLDKAL #STEREK

 **JaneyCakes @janeerikabrady** When Derek comforted Stiles when Kira talked about his mom? SO BEAUTIFUL.

 **Pamela Healy @pamela1973** I agree with Adrian Harris on this one. Their dance was all flash and no substance. Yeah, they were looking at each other intensely, but I want to see a REAL A Tango, not some street dance. I voted for Allison and Jordan.

 **Arie votes for Isaac! @all4isaac** VOTE, Lahey’s Army, VOTE!! #TeamLahey

 **f l o @mxtchsbxtch** “Instant Votes” my ass! What about us West Coasters, huh? We don’t even get to see the dances OR vote on them before the winner is announced?? Such bullshit, @divinemovesofficial

 

******************

 

They ducked around the supports and cables until they finally reached the dressing room door. Stiles was just opening his mouth to say something to Derek when the door opened and several pairs of hands grabbed the both of them and pulled them inside.

The room was filled with bodies—all of the contestants from the season were there (except for fashion designer Lydia Martin and her partner Aiden, who were probably getting ready to perform one of their dances) and dressed in their dancewear from the season—and they were all fawning over Stiles and Derek.

“Oh my _god_ , you guys, that dance was insane!” Allison yelled.

“You two have the win for sure,” Scott beamed at the two of them. “I’m sad it’s not me or Allison, but no one deserves it more than you guys.”

“Twitter is mad nuts right now,” Isaac piped up from a makeup chair, where he was scrolling on his phone and also getting his eyeliner reapplied by Carleigh— probably for the fourth time.

“No way, dude!” Stiles cheered. “What are they saying?”

Isaac scrolled a bit on his phone and then read, “This one says, ‘Isaac and Cora squeezed so much joy out of their faces they’re going to need to go and take a nap.’ And this one is calling on Lahey’s Army to vote.”

“But,” Stiles protested, “what are they saying about Derek and me?”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “You think I’m reading what they’re saying about _you?_ I don’t care, man. I’m looking for dates right now.”

Cora leaned over and chuffed him in the back of the head. “Leave them alone, loser. They just wish they did a routine as good as ours.”

“Ha! Whatever, we were awesome.” Stiles argued back. “They told me I was sexy, Cora! Did you see these abs?”

She rolled her eyes at him, and called over the group, “Can someone get me a magnifying glass? Stiles wants me to look at his abs.”

The group laughed, and Derek couldn’t help but chuckle, too. It was great to be back in the admittedly nicer environment of the contestant dressing area than in the crowded backstage area with Kate. The only downside was that he wished he’d gotten a chance to tell Stiles how he felt about the dance in private. But there wasn’t time for that. There was a half-hour of voting, while the past contestants came back to perform some of the best dances from the season; plus, Isaac’s band was going to play a song, and a few of the pros were going to do a choreographed number, and then the results would be announced. He didn’t know when he’d get Stiles alone again before then.

In the commotion, Boyd leaned close to Derek, “You guys did great.” Derek smiled with relief. Vernon Boyd was out of the competition—he and his partner, soap opera star Erica Reyes—were eliminated in week four, but Boyd was one of Derek’s only real friends. It was great to have his support on and off the dance floor.

“Thanks, Boyd. I was really nervous.”

Boyd shook his head. “You couldn’t tell at all. You guys looked really comfortable with each other. Like you’ve been partners a lot longer than ten weeks.”

Derek’s eyes found Stiles across the room, surrounded by Melissa McCall and Mason Hewitt, two of the early exiters from the show. Stiles was talking excitedly with them, his voice drowned by the other pros and celebrities having their own conversations, but Derek knew he was talking about the dance and the lift, in his own overly-exuberant way.

Derek smiled gently. “It feels comfortable with him.”

Boyd followed Derek’s line of sight to where Stiles was standing, and raised an eyebrow when Stiles gestured a little too wildly and almost hit Melissa in the face. Boyd’s eyes snapped back to Derek, and he tried not to laugh.

Boyd put a large hand on his shoulder. “I’m happy for you, man. Take care, alright?”

The PA named Bill entered the dressing room and called over the noise. “Okay, first will be Braeden and Danny’s cha-cha. Then Melissa and Chris Argent will do their foxtrot, and Liam, you and Hayden will do your samba after.”

“Where’s Coach?” Theo Raeken, the MMA fighter, yelled from the back, his partner Marin massaging his shoulders.

Bill frowned. “Coach was not asked to return to the finale. The rest of you, be ready in the green room for your finale interviews. One minute to places!”

Kisses and hugs were exchanged around the room before everyone scattered to different places in the studio, leaving just the finale contestants: Isaac, still on his phone, with Cora lazily chewing gum in the chair next to him. Allison and Scott were snuggled up on the couch together, their heads close, deep in conversation, while their partners Jordan Parrish and Malia Tate took selfies in front of the lighted mirrors.

Derek looked across the dressing room at Stiles, who was standing with his arms crossed. Before he could second guess himself, Derek walked over to him and gently pulled his arms down.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked.

“After what you did out there on the dance floor tonight, you have nothing to be self-conscious about.”

Stiles smiled a shy smile at him, his hand reaching up to scrub the back of his neck. “Yeah? You really think it was good?”

Derek gave him a look. “Of course. It was the best you’ve ever done.”

“It _felt_ really good. The other dances we’ve done have felt like choreography, like...just remembering the steps was the most important? But this one was so different, like...we really were having a conversation out there.”

Derek smiled at him. “That’s good. That’s exactly how it was supposed to feel.”

“The audience seemed to like it. Do you think America will vote for us?”

Derek shrugged. “In all my years of doing this, I’ve never completely figured out what makes certain dances get the votes over others. We just have to hope they like what we did enough to vote for us.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. He shuffled in place for a moment or two, and Derek wondered what was going through his busy head. Finally, Stiles looked up at him with big, open eyes. “Derek, I know what winning this thing means for you. I just...I want you to know that if, for some reason, we don’t win, I’m going to do whatever I can to help you, okay? You’re not going to go through this alone anymore.”

It was hard for Derek to describe how he felt to finally hear someone say those words to him. He hadn’t had anyone on his side for so long. Cora had been traveling on DanceSport for years and had come back bitter and annoyed, he and Boyd had become friends over the last couple of years, but it was professional help more than anything. But for someone to not only believe him, but agree to come alongside him? He got choked up just thinking about it.

Stiles stepped closer to Derek, putting his hands on his biceps and squeezing gently. “I just think that...we’re like, friends now, you know? And friends don’t let each other struggle so hard.”

Derek swallowed thickly. Friends. _Right._ This between them was just friendship. Stiles was helping him out the way a friend with money and influence _could_ help him. Not because of any other reason. The show would end tonight and Stiles would go back to be with his girlfriend, and Derek would go home. He nodded at Stiles, feeling the lump expand down into his chest. It hurt to think of letting Stiles go, but that was the nature of this show. You partnered for a little while, and then they went back to their lives. He hoped to keep in touch with Stiles—hoped that with Stiles’ promise they would see each other—but Derek couldn’t let himself think it would be any more than that. It couldn’t be.

The only thing he could hope for was that they would win, and they’d get to spend a few more concentrated days together as they went to different talk shows for the “ _Divine Moves_ Champion Tour.” The winners got an all-expenses paid trip to New York City for a press tour; the losers got their end-of-season paycheck and a goodbye.

“Derek? Stiles?” Bill was standing in the doorway. “They need you in the wings for the results.”

Derek finally noticed the dressing room— everyone else was gone; he hadn’t even noticed them leaving while he and Stiles were talking. Stiles gave Bill a thumbs-up, and he squeezed Derek’s arms one more time before following Bill out of the room. Derek followed him in a daze.

They could hear the music and the applause for the other dances— it sounded like the music from Liam and Hayden’s dance. He couldn’t believe that 30 minutes had passed, but he also wasn’t surprised. Time always flew by during the live tapings.

They passed Carleigh and Meg, who gave them both thumbs-ups, Carleigh leaning in and giving Stiles a kiss on his cheek. Stiles reached back to Derek with one hand, and Derek grabbed it, Stiles pulling him in as they went the last few feet to their places off-stage. Allison, Jordan, Scott, and Malia were on the other end of the stage, Isaac and Cora already waiting in their place. The couples were quiet, the pre-results nerves getting the better of all of them. Isaac stood with his hands clasped in front of his lips, swaying back and forth. Cora stood unusually still. Stiles gripped onto Derek’s hand, bouncing on his toes. Derek thought about putting his hands on Stiles’ shoulders to still him, but he realized he had the same nervous energy flowing through his body as his partner.

As the show cut to the final commercial break, the producer led them to their spots on the dance floor, evenly spaced away from the judges’ table. As they walked out, the crowd erupted in cheers, calls for specific dancers and pairs echoing around the studio. Derek smiled when he heard a loud group of girls cheer, “Sterek!” from one corner, and when he and Stiles waved at them, there was a loud squeal that made people around them plug their ears. Well, at least they knew that they made some people happy.

When they were in their places, Derek stole a glance over at the judges’ table. Kira was getting some last-minute makeup touch-ups from Carleigh’s team, while Adrian and Kate were whispering to each other. Kate was looking right at Derek, though, and smirked when she caught his gaze. He looked away quickly and wondered, yet again, what her endgame was in this whole thing. Her score was so out-of-the-blue, and Derek didn’t believe for one minute that she actually felt the way she said she did about the dance. With Kate, nothing was ever as it seemed.

The producers counted down from ten and the theme music erupted yet again, the crew scattering off the stage as the lights came back up. The crowd’s applause and cheers followed Jackson as he entered from off-stage, and announced that he had the results in the envelope he was holding.

“Before we get to the results,” Jackson announced, “I want to take a moment to acknowledge the hard work of all of our contestants this season. Can we give all of them a hand, ladies and gentlemen?”

Four spotlights, one for each couple, shined down from the lighting rig. Derek forced a smile on his face, and Stiles released a fingernail from his mouth long enough to give a smile and a small wave, too.

“As you know, the judges’ scores counted for double this evening. Their points, counted with your Instant Votes via phone, internet, and texting over the last 30 minutes, have determined the winner. I am pleased to announce that your votes have broken the _Divine Moves_ voting record—over 1 million votes!”

The audience’s applause died down when Jackson held up the envelope in his hands. “Shall we find out the winner of our mirrorball trophy?”

 _For the love of God, yes already._ Derek looked at Stiles, who waggled his eyebrows up and down. Derek wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in for a quick squeeze.

“In fourth place,” Jackson announced, reading the card in his hand, “with 17% of the vote, Scott McCall and Malia Tate!”

Derek’s heart was pounding as he applauded for Scott and Malia. They looked disappointed, but hugged each other and waved to the crowd. The light shining on them faded to black, and they walked off-stage together, leaving the three remaining nervous couples.

“In third place,” Jackson announced, reading the card and widening his eyes. “Wow. Umm...in third place, with 23% of the vote, Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale!”

The sound of disbelief from the audience was punctuated by a few heart wrenching screams. Derek and Stiles looked at each other, Stiles’ eyes wider than Derek had ever seen them. Derek knew that every single camera was on them, zooming in to catch their real-time reaction, so he plastered on a smile, and pulled Stiles in for a hug. Over Stiles’ shoulder, he could see Allison’s hands over her mouth in shock.

“I….I— I’m so sorry, Derek.” Stiles’ voice was shaky in his ear, and he pulled back slightly to look at his face. Derek had never seen him look so devastated before.

“It’s okay, Stiles.” The light on them was fading to black, and the shouts and boos from the audience were getting louder. Derek looked to the right to the judges’ table, and Kate had her fingertips tented in front of her mouth, the barest hint of a smile peeking out from behind.

 _She did this._ He didn’t know how—just like he didn’t know how she had stolen his studio and wrecked his life—but he knew that she was behind this. Her and Gerard.

But, with all the cameras on them, and with Jackson struggling to gain control of the audience, Derek knew that freaking out about it now would do no good. Instead, when their area completely faded to black, he walked with Stiles off-stage.

It felt like the entire world was waiting backstage, staring at them with various expressions of shock. Members of the crew and the rest of the season’s cast were all standing in the wings, waiting for the champion’s announcement, and now everyone was staring at the two of them. It was weird—there was still a show going on, a champion about to be announced, but it was like no one even noticed. Everyone had frozen where they were when the announcement was made.

As soon as they were fully backstage, Stiles hurried off, weaving through the crowd of people, headed toward the dressing area. Derek wanted to chase after him, to make sure that he was okay, but he found himself frozen, too, listening to Jackson finally announce, “With 34% of the vote, this year’s winner of _Divine Moves_ is...Allison and Jordan!” Celebratory music started playing, the stunned crowd managed to cheer yet one more time, and Derek heard the cannons of confetti go off, just like he had listened to from backstage the last several years. He had hoped to hear it from the dance floor this year, but it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe it was never meant to be. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to replicate the kind of working relationship he had with Stiles with anyone else. He didn’t really want to.

Derek picked his way around the sympathetic group, who were all making their way back onto the dance floor to congratulate Allison and Jordan, and watch them do one final, celebratory dance in front of America.

But Derek didn’t care about that. He just wanted to make sure Stiles was okay.

He finally got to the dressing room, and found the door open. He saw Stiles pulling on a t-shirt, a duffel bag in his hand, and he was shoving a flannel into it. Derek thought Stiles was talking to himself, but he noticed as he entered into the room that he was actually on the phone, yelling to whomever was on the other end.

“ _I don’t care._ This has gone on long enough, and I’m done.” Stiles looked up to see Derek in the doorway, his eyes widening. He spoke into the phone. “I gotta go.”

Stiles pulled the phone away and shoved it into his bag, hurriedly pulling the zipper shut. He grabbed a pair of beat-up Adidas shoes in his hands, and kicked his dance shoes into a corner. He threw the bag onto his shoulder, the contents nearly spilling out.

Derek struggled to figure out what to say. Stiles was obviously agitated, probably pissed off, probably regretting doing this entire thing in the first place.

“Stiles, I just wanted to—”

“—Stop it, Derek. Don’t say anything, alright?” Stiles ran his free hand through his ultra-gelled hair, mussing it from its hold and leaving it spiked and unkempt. “I just...I can’t be here anymore. This was really great. _You_ were really great. I just...I have to go.”

Stiles stepped past Derek in the doorway, and began to walk toward the studio exit. After a few steps, he paused, seemed to come to himself, and turned back to Derek. The noise from the studio was still going on, and so Stiles came back to stand in front of Derek yet again. His eyes darted back and forth between Derek’s, searching for something, though Derek didn’t know what. He opened his mouth once, as if to say something, before sighing a deep, heavy sigh.

“Look, I just want you to remember that none of this is your fault, okay?”

Before Derek could answer, Stiles turned and walked quickly down the long corridor under the bleachers and through the studio exit. Derek stood frozen, unsure of what to do next.

Stiles hated him. They didn’t win—didn’t even come in _second place_ —and Stiles hurried out so fast so that he wouldn’t say anything mean to Derek. Probably felt so badly for Derek and his stupid financial inabilities that he got out of there as soon as possible so that he wouldn’t have to give him sympathy eyes. It was probably better. Derek had the Midas touch—but whatever the opposite of that was. Everything he touched failed, tonight being the prime example of that. They had this season in the bag: one last solid performance and a good score would have locked in their win. But Derek couldn’t even manage that.

It was for the best that Stiles left. He had successful businesses to run, a beautiful girlfriend to please. He shouldn’t waste his time on a nobody like Derek Hale.

The music faded from the background, and the crowd started to disperse. The last thing Derek wanted was to field questions from well-meaning members of the crew and cast. He gathered up his phone and his keys and snuck out a side entrance, the slam of the door behind him a fitting end note to this disaster of an evening.

 

****************

 **Divine Moves Fansite @dmdanceblog** The judging this year from Kate Bishop was disgraceful. She needs to be sacked immediately. And what the hell with Harris scoring so low? What does he have against everyone??

 **Jenn <3 <3 <3 @Jenn1983** STEREK WAS ROBBED!! Allison and Jordan were beautiful, but there is NO WAY their routine outscored Stiles and Derek’s. Someone needs to look into Kate. Something is NOT RIGHT.

 **Divine Moves Official @divinemovesdance**   Congratulations to our season 8 champions, Allison and Jordan!


	4. Chapter 4

***************

 

Derek was sitting on his couch, the sweat having long dried into the upholstery, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had gone for a long, cleansing run that afternoon. Well, it was supposed to be cleansing. But he came back feeling the exact same emptiness in his gut that he had felt before he left—he was just more tired now. He’d been sitting on the couch for hours, too unmotivated to move. He had played a little bit of Super Mario Run, a game that Stiles had gotten him hooked on during the show’s run, and that he had spent an unhealthy amount of time playing since the show ended four months ago.

Four months.

What could he say about his life for the past four months? Lots of running, working out. Some lessons here and there at Jordan’s studio in the Valley, some private ballroom classes (the demand for those had increased since he didn’t have the “Derek Hale will kill you” vibe with the public). He was on the hunt for a new professional partner, but no one seemed to fit quite right.

And he’d been getting closer to paying off the bounties that Kate had against him. It had been hard—a win on _Divine Moves_ would have made it go so much faster, but as it was, he was doing alright. He was almost out from under her completely.

Thankfully the backlash against her judging in the final episode had her in hiding a bit, which gave Derek a sense of sick satisfaction.

His phone buzzed on the cushion next to him, and his eyebrows raised to the sky when he saw who was calling. He hadn’t heard from him in four months. What could he want?

“Stiles.”

“Turn on your TV. Channel 643.”

“Well, hi to you too.”

“Just do it, SourHale.”

Derek rolled his eyes at the nickname Stiles had started using for him in their first week. Thankfully Gerard had never chosen to use it in their pre-taped packages, or it would have definitely been his new nickname as he went about town. After prior seasons, he got recognized frequently—lots of glances and glares in the supermarket or at the gas station—but no one approached him, at least until this season. It seemed that having a positive interaction with his partner had made him more approachable to others, or something like that. He got stopped nearly everywhere now, mostly by TeamSterek fans, asking how Stiles was doing, or telling him how many times they had voted, or being mad about the results, or asking what he was up to now that the season was over and they had lost. It was nice to hear so many supporters instead of the usual glares that he had grown accustomed to.

Derek grabbed the remote and pressed several buttons, flipping through channels. He sighed into the receiver.

“What am I looking for, Stiles?”

“CBS News. There’s something you need to see.”

“You didn’t get into a fight with Caitlin and get kicked out of Nobu again, did you?”

“And risk her hurting this pretty face? Nah. Besides. We broke up a while ago. Haven’t really kept up with her at all. Last I heard she was dating a YouTuber.”

Derek nearly dropped the remote. _They broke up? When? How?_

“Did you find CBS?”

Stiles’ voice shook Derek out of his thoughts, and he returned his attention to the TV, finally finding the correct station.

“Yes, I’m there now. What am I looking for, exactly?” There was currently a news segment on yet another Kardashian drama, and Derek couldn’t think of anything he would want to watch less. “You’re making me watch the Kardashians? Four months of nothing from you, and now you make me turn on the family from Hell?”

“Whoa, dude. You really are SourHale right now. Look, I’m sorry about the non-communicating thing for a while, but there were some things that I was getting taken care of, and—”

“—oh, okay. It’s fine. You’re really busy, I know.” Derek tried not to let his disappointment show in his voice, but he was sure he failed miserably. He was hoping that what they had was worth a...well, at least a continued friendship. But Stiles hadn’t called. Hadn’t returned texts. Hadn’t even told Derek that he wasn’t seeing Caitlin anymore. He obviously didn’t want a relationship, so Derek should just move on from this.

“Dude, are you watching, or are you thinking too much?”

“I’m not thinking too mu…” he argued, but his voice trailed off as he saw the words in the bar along the bottom of the screen: BREAKING NEWS: REALITY TV JUDGE ARRESTED ON CHARGES OF FRAUD.

Derek’s eyes flew wide open at the image of Kate being led out of her home, in sunglasses, flanked by two police officers, with her wrists behind her in handcuffs. He pushed himself up off the couch, his phone forgotten. He stood, riveted, as the reporter spoke in calm but urgent tones.

“Officials in Beverly Hills today arrested Kate Bishop, the outspoken judge on the reality TV show, _Divine Moves,_ on suspicion of multiple counts of fraud and money laundering. Kate spent last season on the dance show, drawing ire from many fans for her biased and inflammatory remarks against some of the contestants. Ms. Bishop surprised many with her appointment to the judges’ panel this past season, and many have been calling for a replacement when the new season begins.”

Derek absorbed the images from the TV, like water on the fire of his frustration with his entire financial situation. It was at that moment he remembered his phone, which was dangling loosely in his hand. He quickly fumbled it back into his grip and lifted it again to his ear.

“Stiles?”

“Yep, still here.” He sounded positively gleeful.

“What is this?”

“Keep watching. It gets better.”

Derek kept the phone on his ear as he turned his attention back to the screen, his mouth falling more open the longer he listened.

“Bishop is being held in the Beverly Hills Jail on three million dollars bail.” The images of Kate’s mugshot— _her mugshot!_ —changed to an image of Gerard, the reporter delivering the information in a solemn tone. “In a stunning turn of events, Gerard Argent, known to many as the man at the helm of multiple reality shows across several networks, including the previously mentioned _Divine Moves,_ has also been arrested on charges of accessory to fraud and tax evasion. Court documents revealed that Gerard is actually Kate Bishop’s father, a relationship previously unknown to the viewing public. A request for a statement from the network has not been returned. Mr. Argent is being held on five million dollars bail. More on this story as it develops.”

“Derek?”

Stiles’ voice in his ear jerked him back to reality. He could barely find his voice, and when he did, it was croaking and whispered.

“H-h-how?”

“Can I come in first?”

“What?”

There was a firm knock on his door, and Derek’s head whipped to see Stiles’ signature wild mess of hair poking up past the frame of his front door window. A scant second later, the hair was joined by Stiles’ Bambi-sized brown eyes. They locked with Derek’s, and his voice could now be heard in stereo, through the earpiece and muffled through the door.

“Close your mouth and let me in.”

Derek started to protest, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “My mouth wasn’t open!”

“Gotcha. Come on, let me in. Your neighbor thinks I’m a creeper.”

Derek rolled his eyes as he walked through the door. “You kind of are.”

He undid the locks and swung the front door open wide, and his heart did a flip-flop when he saw Stiles standing there on his front stoop, his phone up to his ear. He looked completely unassuming: distressed khaki pants, battered shoes, a simple tee (with the Star Wars periodic table on it), and a navy and blue open flannel on top.

He could’ve been wearing a paper bag. Derek still thought he was gorgeous.

_God, I missed you._

Stiles’ neck flushed a deep red, and he shoved his phone in his pocket. “Aaw, I missed you too, SourHale.”

Derek’s ears suddenly felt like they were 500 degrees. He must have said that last thought out loud. Derek dropped the phone awkwardly from his own ear and tried to put the phone in his pocket—but he forgot he was wearing his shorts from the gym that didn’t have any pockets. His own awkwardness felt like it was growing to be a massive awkward monster that would swallow him whole.

“Umm...can I come in?”

Derek’s eyes widened. “Oh, god, yeah. I’m sorry. Come in.”

Stiles smiled a half-smile and stepped past him through the doorway. “Thanks.”

Derek tried to calm his pounding heart as Stiles walked into his apartment. He quickly shut the door and stepped around Stiles, hurriedly picking up stacks of mail and empty take-out containers that were strewn around his living room. He gestured to Stiles to sit on the couch while he took his now-full armload into the kitchen to dump.

“Wow, dude. I had you pegged as the anal-retentive neat freak. I didn’t realize you were a slob like me.”

Derek called from the kitchen, “Normally I’m a lot cleaner than this. I’ve been busy with a bunch of extra classes at Jordan’s studio.” He finished throwing things out and grabbed his water bottle on the counter to take a few chugs. “Do you want some water?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Derek wiped his hands on his shorts as he walked back into the living room. He realized then how disgusting he was. He was still crusty from the gym, unshowered and unkempt. He weighed his options for a moment before realizing that learning about Kate was way more important than his personal hygiene right now. Thankfully, Stiles was used to exercising with Derek—him being a smelly beast wouldn’t be a new phenomenon.

He sat on the oversized armchair next to the sofa where Stiles had made himself comfortable. He tried to sit back, but he found himself buzzing too much with the need to know _everything._ So he sat on the edge of the seat, his elbows on his knees, leaning toward Stiles.

“So...”

“Did I ever tell you about my Dad?” Stiles suddenly asked.

Derek blinked in surprise. Stiles had talked about his dad a little bit, about how great of a guy he was, how he had raised Stiles on his own after Stiles’ mom had died. How the first big paycheck Stiles had made was to pay off his childhood home so his dad didn’t have to take extra shifts at work anymore.

“Umm...yeah?”

“I mean, did I ever tell you what he did for a living?”

Derek scrambled through his conversations with Stiles, and came up blank. Had that really never come up?

“Huh. No, I guess you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I don’t like to advertise it. If you do some digging you can find it, because how many Stilinskis in California are there? But...my dad was the sheriff of the small town where I grew up. After I paid off the house and he didn’t have to work himself to death anymore, he retired.”

Derek nodded along, wondering what this had to do with Kate or Gerard. A retired Sheriff may be helpful on a consultant basis, but surely his jurisdiction was way outside of Beverly Hills.

“He loved retirement...for about 2 weeks. Then he started going stir-crazy. So he did security for a while—actually helped to set up my security detail team in the beginning of my career—but then he moved on to his current position. Private investigator.”

Suddenly everything fell into place in Derek’s mind. “Your Dad figured out what Kate and Gerard were doing.”

“Yep,” Stiles confirmed, emphasizing the p.

“How—how did I not know about this?”

Stiles shuffled a bit in his seat. “Well...kind of because I asked him to keep it under the radar. I wanted him to find out as much as he could without letting you know anything….at least until we knew whether or not there was actually anything to find.”

“And,” Derek nodded to the TV, “he must’ve found something.”

“Oh, yeah. Many things. But the most important _for you_ is that he found all of the info he needed to trace the mortgage fraud she committed to get loans put into your name. She fraudualized a marriage with you to get access to your accounts, and slowly drained a little bit out of each of them so you wouldn’t notice the leak.”

Derek couldn’t believe it. Well, he _could._ Kate was definitely manipulative and crazy enough to try to pull something like this off, and just smart enough to be able to do it. “And my studio?”

“She evoked some obscure loophole in the small business law to gain control of your holdings, and then she mortgaged them to the hilt. She hired people that actually don’t exist as employees and pocketed the money, and then marketed herself as your assistant to cancel your lessons and your rehearsal times, while paying off actors to call and impersonate your clients.”

Derek’s head was in his hands by this point. It was too much. He had been completely duped. “I’m such...an idiot.”

“No no no no no!” Stiles slid off of the couch and knelt down in front of Derek. He pulled on Derek’s hands and held them in his own. It took him a moment, but Derek finally met Stiles’ pleading eyes. “Don’t think that, Derek. You’re _not_ an idiot.”

“Yeah? I thought she _loved me,_ Stiles. And she was just using me, and stealing everything from me. And I didn’t even see it.”

“Because she’s a pro, Derek. She’s...she’s done it before.”

Derek gaped at him. “She what?”

“At least three times, possibly four. Once here in Southern California, once in New Jersey, and once in Indiana, for some reason. And from what my dad gathered, she was working on a guy in Phoenix as her next mark.”

“Jesus.” Derek’s head was swimming with the info. Four different people, all their lives destroyed by one woman. And...Gerard. “Wait—how does Gerard fit into all of this?”

“It’s who she channeled all her money through. He has legitimate businesses, she does all of her business as Kate Bishop, and so Katherine Argent, Gerard’s mysterious daughter, benefits from everything.”

Stiles stayed in front of Derek, stroking a pattern into Derek’s hand. Derek felt on the edge of tears, but Stiles’ assuring hand helped to anchor him, keeping him from drifting into a full-blown panic attack.

“I just...why?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head. “Hopefully that’s what we’ll figure out soon. Dad noticed some patterns, but Der. Please believe me. This wasn’t because of anything you did or didn’t do. And...we’re going to get your money back. All of Gerard’s assets were frozen when he was arrested. He did a good job covering his tracks—but not good enough to fool my own investigators. They’ll nail him to the wall, and then you’ll get everything you had lost.”

Derek felt the lump rising in his throat. He would get everything back? It was almost mind-boggling to consider. It had been so long, with so many extra hours put in at work, his reputation destroyed and slowly built up again. He hesitated to hope that he could have it all again.

“I have...one more thing to give you,” Stiles said softly. He let go of Derek’s hand with his right, and reached into his back pocket. He held his hand out, open-palm in front of him. It was a key. Derek’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“It’s your studio key. The small business commission wiped her name off of the deed. It’s all yours again.”

Derek couldn’t keep it in anymore. He buried his face into his hands—which included Stiles’ hands and the key—and just...cried. He cried for the lost years, he cried for the dreams that he thought were buried forever, he cried for the other men she had preyed on. Stiles released his hands and pulled Derek close, wrapping his arms around Derek’s broad shoulders and just holding him.

They stayed like that for a long time, long enough that Derek felt Stiles start to squirm a little bit. Derek’s voice was muffled in the shoulder of Stiles’ shirt as he asked, “Are you okay down there?”

“Your hardwood floors are really nice. But not so nice on my knees.”

Derek chuckled and sniffed, wiping his eyes and scooting over so Stiles could join him on the oversized chair. Stiles grunted and groaned as he stood, stretching over his head for a moment. Derek got an eyeful of the line of skin just above Stiles’ waistband, and he dropped his gaze to his hands, where the key to the studio now rested. Stiles exhaled loudly and sat in the empty space Derek had created.

“I need to apologize, Derek.”

Derek looked at him, confused. “What could you possibly have to apologize for? I should be apologizing to you. If it weren’t for my thing with Kate, you would’ve won _Divine Moves._ You deserved to win.”

“Yeah, Gerard and Kate fixed the votes. We actually won with almost 50 percent of the vote.”

Derek’s jaw dropped, but before he could even register what to say, Stiles continued. “But—Derek, I don’t care about that. At all. Are you kidding? My production company has more scripts being optioned than ever before. Being on _Divine Moves_ gave _Speak Out Productions_ the exposure that we needed to be able to expand into more markets. We’re doing screenplay workshops in highly-concentrated LGBTQ neighborhoods, doing summer directorial internships, and offering our first scholarship in the fall for transgender and non-binary high school students who want to major in film studies. Things are better than ever for me business-wise, and it’s all because of _you.”_

“I can’t take credit for that. You’re incredibly inventive and an expert marketer. People spend time with you, and they _want_ to invest with you. If your businesses are succeeding, then it’s because of your own hard work.”

Stiles shook his head. “Whatever, dude. You can think that, but I know the truth. But I do need to apologize. I shut you out completely the last four months. I’m so sorry. It absolutely killed me. After the finale, I wanted to call you every day, or at least continue our ridiculous texts late into the night like we used to do.”

Derek smiled at the memory. “So why didn’t you?”

“My dad told me to take a step back. I had just broken up with Caitlin, and he was worried that I was rebounding my feelings for her onto you. He didn’t want them interfering with his investigation, and potentially damaging the case against Kate. I hated every minute of that four months. I wondered what you were doing. I kept track of you through all of the gossip blogs and magazines. Seeing your picture pop up on Twitter with random fans made me so incredibly happy—and jealous of them, of course.”

Derek knew Stiles had said more, but..he was caught up on one detail. “So, were you?”

“Was I what?”

“Rebounding your feelings for Caitlin onto me?”

Derek searched Stiles’ eyes for the answer he hoped he would find. He’d spent so long thinking he had imagined the way that Stiles had looked at him for those months of competition. The barely-veiled flirting, the way they fit together, and the way they danced together. Stiles had been in Derek’s mind and in his heart since the first weeks of the competition, and now he may get to know—for once and for all—whether or not there was any hope in Stiles returning his feelings.

“My feelings weren’t rebounding, Derek.”

All at once it felt like the floor fell out from under his feet. He tore his eyes away from Stiles’, willing the tears that had suddenly sprung to his eyes not to fall. He had to be strong right now.

“Hey hey, no.” Stiles’ hand cupped Derek’s cheek and he turned his face toward him. “God, you always think the worst about yourself. No. My feelings weren’t rebounding because that would imply I feel the same way about you as I did about her. And that’s not possible. Because what I feel for you is unlike anything I have ever experienced before. You light me up, Derek. You make me stronger and braver than I have ever been, and...if you’re interested, I want to see what life is like with you by my side.”

Derek couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This incredible, generous, amazing man, wanted to be with him. He leaned into Stiles’ hand as he ran his thumb under Derek’s eye to catch the moisture. The softest smile was on Stiles’ face, and Derek thought he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He leaned his forehead against Stiles’, closing his eyes to just relish how it felt to finally know that Stiles felt the same way. He dropped the key on the chair and ran his own hands up Stiles’ back, coming up to rest on the side of his neck. His thumbs traced along the bottom of Stiles’ jawline.

Stiles’ hushed words fell over him softly, “So...can I hope that you feel kind of the same way?”

Derek smiled, leaning in to gently press his lips to Stiles’. He felt the rush of emotion wave through him, goosebumps erupting over his skin. His fingers caressed the short hair at the nape of Stiles’ neck before he pulled back, his eyes scanning Stiles’ own to make sure he was on board. Stiles licked his lips and then leaned in again, Derek catching sight of the small smile before their lips met again, this time more insistently.

Time seemed to slow down and stop for Derek— the only sounds were his heartbeat and the little whimpers that Stiles didn’t even seem to notice he was making. They were addictive to Derek, little signs that the passion behind the kiss was something Stiles couldn’t keep secret any longer. Derek’s hands drifted down, and he wrapped his arms around Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him closer until their chests were pressed together. Derek tore his mouth away from Stiles’, leaving a hot path to the sensitive skin under his ear with his lips.

“Yes, Stiles. I definitely feel the same way.”

Stiles gasped, and Derek didn’t know if it was because of his words, or because he had suddenly taken Stiles’ earlobe into his mouth. He didn’t really care what caused it; he just never wanted the sound to end. Stiles’ hands gripped tightly into the back of Derek’s tank top, holding him close.

“Oh, god…” Stiles moaned. “Look, as much as I want this to continue, I have to be totally honest with you.”

Derek nuzzled his face into Stiles’ collarbone, pulling the flannel back and sucking gently on the skin under the collar. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Stiles placed one gentle kiss onto the side of Derek’s neck and then pulled back. “You reek _so bad_ right now!”

Derek burst into laughter. Stiles followed him, pulling his hands back and putting them over his nose and mouth. His words were muffled behind them.

“Seriously, oh my god! I love you, but it’s _so awful!”_

Derek’s laughter petered out as he processed Stiles’ words. Stiles’ eyes were wide open, apparently in shock from his own admission.

“Umm...shit. Forget that I said that. I mean, unless you like it, then I totally meant it. But if that scares the shit out of you, then forget it.”

Derek smirked at Stiles’ fidgeting, his fumbling words so completely endearing that Derek wanted to wrap himself up in it forever. Instead, he had a wicked idea.

“I stink, do I? Well then.” He playfully wrestled Stiles backwards on the chair and pressed his larger body across Stiles, propping his head up on his arm with his elbow jutted out across Stiles’ head—so that his armpit was directly in line with Stiles’ face. Stiles started to thrash and squeal, with laughter thrown in, both from Stiles and from Derek himself.

“Oh my god….! You’re so disgusting! Get….off…..me….you big…..lunk of….man meat!” When Stiles realized that pushing against Derek wasn’t getting him anywhere, he began poking Derek in the side until he found a spot that made Derek spasm and let out an extremely unmanly squeak. Stiles gave a perfectly _evil_ grin at that discovery, and began relentlessly tickling Derek in return.

“What is my body saying to you right now, Derek? It’s _talking to you!”_

Derek’s laughter was silenced against Stiles’ lips as he decided his only defense was to completely distract Stiles from his tickling torture. Which, as a general rule, worked perfectly. Stiles stopped wiggling around and instead wrapped his legs around the back of Derek’s thighs, pulling him close. His arms wound tight against his waist, and Derek moaned into the feel of them pressed against each other in all the right places.

When they were both breathless, Derek lifted his head. He could get used to the dazed look in Stiles’ eyes as he laid underneath him. Derek moved a hand to Stiles’ forehead, brushing aside some of the more unruly strands that were being smashed against the arm of the chair.

“It’s saying you love me. And I love you right back.”

Stiles smiled broadly at the words. He leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to Derek’s lips. “God, you’re perfect. Even when you smell like a muskox.”

Derek threw his head back with laughter. “Oh my god, alright already! I’ll go take a shower!”

He pushed off of Stiles, pausing for a moment to take in his sprawled-out, disheveled form. He wanted to see this every day for the rest of his life. But for now, he’d start with today.

Because it looked like he had finally found the perfect partner.

For life.

 

*****************  
 

 **E! News @enews** Kate Argent, formerly known as reality TV judge Kate Bishop, was convicted today in the Beverly Hills Court on 23 counts of identity theft and fraud. She is also under investigation in three other states for similar charges.

 **Divine Moves Official @divinemovesdance** Allison Argent and Jordan Parrish, last season’s Divine Moves champions, present the People’s Choice Award for Best Couple to Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale—who then shocked the audience with a celebratory on-stage kiss!

 **shelly @seriouslyshells**  I KNEW THEY WERE TOGETHER! YOU CAN’T FAKE CHEMISTRY LIKE THAT! STEREK FOREVER!

 **Isaac Lahey @officialisaaclahey** Nice move, Stiles. Allison, Scott and I approve.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The biggest, most grateful thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed the story. Let me know in the comments!
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/im2old4thisotp) and [tumblr](http://im2old4thisotp.tumblr.com).


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